


All That Might Be:  Changes

by Penthesilea1623



Series: All That Might Be [1]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Slow Build, True Love, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-11-20 23:25:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 120,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penthesilea1623/pseuds/Penthesilea1623
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian Vael has just taken his vows as a brother in the Chantry when word reaches him of his family's murder.  Anabel Hawke has fled to Kirkwall and must find a way to support her family and keep them safe.  Chance brings them together at a moment when their both of their lives have been irrevocably changed.  Part One of a slightly AU retelling of DAII, eventually spanning all three acts and a little more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

>   
> _And His Word became all that might be:_  
>  _Dream and idea, hope and fear,_  
>  _Endless possibilities._  
>  __
> 
> #####  _Threnodies 5:1
> 
> ##### 
> 
> _
>
>> Lachlan Vael sat in the garden of the royal palace on the marble bench where his Meghan had loved to sit, running his thumb over the gold locket he held. He stared straight ahead, not seeing the vista of Starkhaven spread out below him. He was an old man, he had outlived many loved ones, but this loss seemed insurmountable. His lips moved in prayer.  


_“Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,_  
 _I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm._  
 _I shall endure._  
 _Though all before me is shadow,_  
 _Yet shall the Maker be my guide._  
 _I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond."_

His voice trailed off. To go on without her seemed an impossible task. The ruling of Starkhaven seemed trivial to him, and that was no way for a ruler to feel. He would step down from the throne, let Corbinian take over. He would join the Chantry, spend his last years in service to the Maker and Andraste. Having made the decision, he felt better.

He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the little boy come up next to him until he heard him speak. 

“I’m sorry about Grandmother, Granda.” 

He looked down to see his youngest grandson looking up at him with Meghan’s sky blue eyes. Of all the children and grandchildren, only this little boy, referred to by his father as “the afterthought”, had inherited those vivid blue eyes. 

He felt his throat tighten. “Thank you, lad.” he said roughly, pulling the boy onto his lap. Sebastian settled back, comfortably resting his head against his grandfather’s broad chest.

“Are you very lonely?” he asked, ingenuous as only a small child could be. Lachlan stroked his auburn curls. He was a handsome boy, and too charming by half. Like his grandmother.  


“I miss her very much. But we are never truly alone. ‘ _For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light. And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost_ ’. The time will come when I will see your grandmother again at the Maker’s side.” His thumb ran over the surface of the locket.  


The boy reached out and took the locket out of his grandfather’s hands. His fingers traced the engraved caluna flowers, their buds represented by deep purple Starkhaven amethysts. He carefully opened the locket the way his grandmother had shown him, and looked at the portraits inside.  


“That’s you and Grandmother isn’t it?”  


Lachlan didn’t bother looking. “Yes lad.”  


“You’re so young. It must have been painted a very long time ago.” Lachlan smiled at that. At barely five years old the idea of growing old was strange to Sebastian. He imagined his wife’s laughter at the boy’s statement, and felt his heart twist painfully.  


The small finger traced Meghan’s face. “She was very pretty, wasn’t she?”  


Lachlan looked down at the portrait. “She was beautiful.” he said, his voice catching. “And brave, and she had the loveliest laugh. She laughed all the time. She would light up a room when she entered it.”  


The boy considered the picture in front of him. “When I get married, I’m going to marry a girl just like that. Not someone like Sara.” He said, making a face. Sara was the snobbish new wife of Sebastian’s oldest brother.  


Lachlan couldn’t help laughing as he hugged the boy to him. ”You do that lad. You find a girl like that, and marry her, and I’ll give you the locket as a present for your bride.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caluna is the Latin name for heather. I figure if Starkhaven has the accent they should have the accompanying flora as well....


	2. Welcome to the Red Iron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeran hires some new mercenaries.

Meeran stepped on to the boat to the Gallows with six of his men. Getting to Friederich before he skipped Kirkwall was going to be a pain in the ass, but no one double crossed the Red Iron and got away with it. He was about to sit himself down for the fifteen minute ride across the harbor when he spotted someone obviously trying not to be seen in a corner of the boat. A smile came to his face as he recognized the man. And he’d thought the ride over would be dull. He crossed over to him, gesturing for his men to follow him. 

“Gamlen Amell. Fancy seeing you here. You wouldn’t be thinking about trying to sneak out of Kirkwall to avoid paying Kurt here his money now would you?”

Gamlen's beady eyes looked at Kurt's grinning face and then back to Meeran's. “What? No! I wouldn’t do that. I told you, I’ll pay back the money. I just need a little more time.” Gamlen’s eyes were shifting back and forth in panic. 

Meeran grinned. He loved that he could make someone as large as Gamlen Amell squirm in fear. “Seems to me we’ve given you plenty of time. You don’t seem to have put it to very good use." He gestured to one of his men and they grabbed Gamlen pinning his arms behind him. Another gesture and Kurt stepped up with a grin on his face, clenching his fists. 

“No, wait!” shouted Gamlen. "I can make it up to you.”

This should be good. Meeran held up his hand to stop Kurt. 

Gamlen said frantically. “I’m going to pick up my nieces and nephew. They’re soldiers. From Ferelden. Fought in the army. And one of them’s a mage. They could work for you. Pay off my debt.” He’d already made arrangements with Athenril, but Meeran didn’t need to know that. “Only.” His voice trailed off.

“Only?” asked Meeran.

“The Knight Commander’s not letting any more refugees in. Some money’s got to be paid out before they’ll be allowed in.”

“How much?”

Gamlen told him.

Meeran raised an eyebrow. “You want me to shell out that kind of coin when I don’t even know if they’re any good?” He thought about it. He’d never had a mage work for him. Could be useful. "Tell you what. I’ve got other business in the Gallows and I’m in a generous mood. Tell them to come find me and talk to me. If I like what I see, I’ll let them work off your debt. For a year’s service.”

“A year!” said Gamlen, wondering how he would explain that to Leandra. At another gesture from Meeran he was grabbed from behind again. “A year. A year is fine.” He agreed. He slumped back onto the bench as soon as he was released.

The boat pulled up to the dock and Gamlen scrambled to get off, eager to put some distance between himself and Meeran.

“Oy! Gamlen.” Meeran shouted after him.

Gamlen turned around, swallowing hard.

“What are they called?” 

Gamlen racked his brain trying to remember what outlandish names Leandra had called her brats but came up blank. “Hawke. The name’s Hawke.”

 

 

Meeran was pacing in the courtyard in a foul mood. They’d gotten there only to discover Friederich had hired bodyguards and there was no getting near him without a fight, and the last thing he needed was to bring the Knight Commander’s attention down on the Red Iron. 

“Are you Meeran?” said someone behind him, a woman’s voice, low pitched and melodious. Gamlen’s niece and nephew. Shit. He’d almost forgotten. He would have thought the nephew would have been the voice for the pair, but he was old fashioned that way. He turned around to look at them. There were three of them standing there. A hulking brute of a lad – good, he thought approvingly, he could always use more muscle. A woman almost as muscled as the man, and what he dismissed as teenage boy, wearing leather armor that was too big and a ridiculous leather cap that hid half his face. Had Gamlen said there were three? He couldn’t remember. He dozed off when the man went on for too long.

“You must be Hawke.” he said agreeably to the large woman, walking towards her.

“No, I must be Hawke.” came from behind him.

Meeran frowned as he turned around. He examined her carefully. Not a boy. A girl. The ill fitting leather armor gave no indication of femininity. He looked at her face. Couldn’t tell about her hair it’s covered by that hat. Pale skin, and a few freckles. Big eyes, a strange blue and green color, with dark brows and lashes. The mouth. His eyes lingered on it. Now that’s the giveaway, he thought. Lush, full lips, even dried and chapped as they were from weeks at sea. “Nice.” He muttered to himself. 

She heard him and gave him such a look that he actually felt embarrassed for a moment. “You’re just a kid. How old are you?” he snapped at her.

She looked at him defiantly. “How old does one need to be to be a hired killer? I wasn’t aware there was an age requirement.”

He’d expected her to cringe. Most did when he snapped at them. She’s got spirit, he thought. “The Red Iron aren’t just any hired killers, girl. We’re the best.” He walked up so he was directly in front of her and she had to tilt her head up to look at him. “ You think you’re good enough for that? Your uncle talked up a storm about you. He’d better not be blowing smoke up my ass.”

She ignored his question. “My uncle doesn’t seem like the sort to hang around with mercenaries.”

Meeran gave a snort and stepped back. “He doesn’t. Gamlen cheated one of my men at a wallop match. You work out we’ll call it even. Plus, he said something about one of you being a mage.”

The girl shot a glance at her brother. Was that guilt in her eyes? “That was our sister.” she said. “She didn’t make it.” 

Of course. Meeran scowled. Should have known Gamlen would fuck it up somehow. He looked at the odd trio. Did he really need to pay to get them out of the Gallows? The enticement of having a mage working for him had made him curious, but there was never any shortage of people wanting to sign on to join the Red Iron. Still, there was something about the girl. A confidence that certainly didn’t come from her appearance. His gut told him she might be worth having around, and he listened to his gut. He wondered. Did she have the skills to back up that attitude? 

He looked at her carefully and her mouth caught his eye again. Her upper lip was fuller than the lower, that was what was so distracting about it. Bee-stung, he’d once heard it called. Made a man think of all sorts of things. He wondered if she had any sort of shape under that armor. 

She glanced up at him and caught him looking at her again. He scowled at her. Instead of looking away, she lifted her chin higher and looked him directly in the eye. Fearless, he thought. That could be good or bad. 

“So what makes you so special, eh?” he asked. “You willing to show what you can do?” he asked.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’d like to know more about you first.” She looked at him expectantly.

So she was going to be picky about who she worked for? “Right. You aren’t a Marcher like your uncle.” He paced back and forth as he talked. “We’re well known in these parts. We pick who we work for, and keep our noses clean. But someone screws with us, we mess them up.” This was as much a warning to her as a statement. He saw something flicker in her eyes that let him know she understood. 

The brother just grinned. “All I know is if we join the company, I’m going to start talking like that.” Meeran glanced at him. The kid shared the same blue green eyes as his sister, but he could see the resemblance to Gamlen.

The girl just rolled her eyes. She chewed on her lower lip, as she considered what he’d said. Abruptly she turned back to him, her mind apparently made up. “I’m ready to prove myself.”

He sent her to deal with Friederich. Let’s see how she handled that. And if the situation went to shit he could deny all knowledge of it. 

Meeran knew all the dark corners in Kirkwall, and the Gallows was no exception. As soon as the three were out of sight he turned and climbed up the stairs overlooking the small courtyard where Friederich thought he was hiding himself. He watched as the girl approached him. She was talking with him, too low for him to hear what was being said. The two others let her take the lead. Interesting. They towered over her, but followed her. She had a strong personality that one. 

He didn’t like strong personalities. 

She still wasn’t fighting, just more talking. He made a sound of disgust. He didn’t need talkers. Screw them, and screw Gamlen. Let them rot in the Gallows.  


He had just turned to leave when he heard one of Frederich’s guard shouting that they worked for the Red Iron and then the unmistakable sound of weapons being drawn. Finally, he thought, turning around, and then his mouth dropped open in astonishment as he watched her move in a blur of knives. She didn’t fight so much as she flowed around her victims. It was almost a dance. She flipped and twirled like an acrobat. She led that brother of hers like he was on a leash. He just followed the path that she opened, whacking things with that huge sword. His mind buzzed as he thought of all jobs that he could use her for. Tiny gawky thing like that. No one would suspect her. And by the time they did she’d have slit their throats. He laughed out loud as she punched one of the guards in the face and then a moment later slit his throat. 

He made his way back to his spot in the courtyard, giving the waiting men instructions on clearing up the bodies, and which guards to pay off. He purposely kept his back to Hawke and her companions as they approached, feigning a nonchalance he wasn't feeling. 

“We’ve done as you asked.” she said simply. No bragging. No boasting. Just, job done. He turned to face her. If it weren’t for the streak of blood across the bridge of her nose, you’d think she’d done nothing more than deliver a package to Hightown for him. He couldn’t keep the grin from his face. 

“Good. May the bloody vultures feast on his corpse and shit him into the ocean.” 

The brother laughed loudly. “I’m telling you, I love this guy.” 

“So you’ll get us in?” the girl asked.

Meeran was feeling positively jubilant. “Tell your uncle I’m making the arrangements now. Welcome to the Red Iron. ” He walked off.

As soon as Meeran was out of sight, Hawke slumped onto the nearest crate.

Carver watched her. Anabel always looked smaller somehow after she finished a fight, and he was reminded of just how many ways she could have been hurt during it. She hardly ever was of course, because she was so damn fast, but after Bethany… well, he wasn’t going to let anything happen to her. He looked at her in that ridiculous leather cap that she insisted was a helmet. He was fairly certain it wouldn’t protect her head from much if tested. She flexed her hand looking at the bruised knuckles. She looked absurdly vulnerable perched there

“Let me see that.” She looked up at him in surprise and he felt a pang of guilt. He knew he’d been a jerk the whole voyage over, blaming her for what had happened. He’d told her to stay with Bethany and Mother and instead she’d come to his aid when he’d been overwhelmed by darkspawn. She couldn’t have known that ogre would attack them. 

“Shove over.” He said. She slid farther along the crate and he sat beside her and took her hand in his looking it over carefully. “I don’t think it’s broken. It’ll probably just be sore for a couple of days.” He glanced at her. “Why’d you punch the bastard anyway if you were just going to stab him a minute later?” 

“I was trying not to stab him.” At Carver’s disbelieving look she explained, “Meeran said we had to kill Lord what’s his name. He didn’t say we had to kill the guards.”

He snorted at this logic. “Next time just kill them.” 

She grinned at him, flashing her dimple. “You think?” 

“Yeah.”

“Like I’d take advice from you.” She nudged him with her shoulder. He nudge back harder. She braced herself and pushed against him and he pushed back. She put all her weight into the effort, her feet scrambling for traction as she tried to budge him. Eventually he succeeded in knocking her off the crate. She sat there laughing up at him as he stood and pulled her to her feet.

Dusting herself off, she looked at Meeran, who was talking to Captain Ewald. “He’s full of himself, isn’t he? Meeran, I mean.” She lowered her voice in imitation. “ ‘Someone screws with us, we mess them up.’ I mean seriously, who talks like that?”

“You should be more careful, Hawke.” said Aveline, from where she stood watching the pair. “You were deliberately antagonizing him.” 

“I was standing up to him.” Hawke corrected. “He may run the biggest mercenary group in Kirkwall but he’s a bully, Aveline. You can’t back down from a bully, or they’ll walk all over you. And that’s not how I want to spend the next year.”

“I think he’s great.” said Carver. 

“You would.” Hawke rolled her eyes, but she was looking at him fondly, glad he was finally speaking to her again. 

“No one’s going to mess with us if we’re with him. We’ll finally get some respect.” 

“I’d rather get the respect for what I do than because we’re part of a gang.” She looked curiously at Aveline. "I wouldn’t have thought being a mercenary would be your cup of tea, Aveline.”

“I’m not becoming a mercenary.” Said Aveline simply. 

“You’re not planning on staying here in the Gallows, are you?” Hawke asked with a frown.

“I don’t have to.” Aveline admitted. 

Hawke stared at her for a moment and then a smile spread across her face.

“And what are you smirking at?” Aveline asked sternly. 

“Aveline Vallen, you big softie, you.” 

Aveline couldn’t help a small smile.

“What?” asked Carver, looking back and forth between the two women. He’d missed something.

Hawke turned to her brother. “She’s had the money to bribe the guards to get herself out this whole time. She just couldn’t bear to leave us.” 

Carver goggled at Aveline. “You could have gotten out of here three days ago and you just hung around?”

Aveline looked uncomfortable. “After what we went through together.” her voice trailed off momentarily. “Well, I look out for my friends. I wanted to be sure you could get in.” 

“What if we hadn’t been able to?” asked Hawke.

“Then we would have followed Captain Ewald’s advice and tried further up the coast.” she said matter of factly.

“And I suppose your money would have paid for that trip?” Her eyes twinkled. She leaned over and gave Aveline a quick hug and laughed at Aveline’s uncomfortable expression. “Come on. Let’s tell Mother and Gamlen the news.”

Gamlen scrambled to his feet as they approached. “Any luck?” he asked anxiously.

She grinned at him. “Congratulations. “You’re now uncle to two Red Iron mercenaries.”

Leandra looked horrified. “My children should be nobility.” She glared at Gamlen. “You’ve sold them into servitude.”

Anabel knew all too well what it was to be on the receiving end of one of Leandra’s tirades. “No one’s sold us into anything, Mother. We’ve gotten into the city. We’ve got jobs. We’ve got a place to live. That’s more than we had this morning.”

“But if we had the estate.” 

“But we don’t.” said Hawke cutting her off. “If it weren’t for Uncle Gamlen, we’d be stuck here in the Gallows.” 

Gamlen looked surprised. He couldn’t remember the last time someone took his side. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of his niece. She was small and gawky and didn’t seem to be very pretty, as far as he could tell. And all the jokes. Leandra was glaring at the girl now. Maker, she looked like their mother when she scowled like that. It wasn’t a happy thought. He was already beginning to regret inviting them to live with him. “Well. Good. I’ll go talk with Meeran, see about paying the bribes.” 

Carver watched his uncle scurry away. He seemed a pretty pathetic sort. He looked back at Anabel. “We did it.” he said. 

“We did. No more running for our lives unless we really have to.” 

“If only Bethany were here.” Leandra gave Hawke an accusing look. 

“And Wesley.” added Aveline softly.

“We’re off to a good start.” said Hawke looking curiously across the harbor at the city. “Let’s see what this city holds for us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like playing rogues and it always made me nuts that you couldn't have Carver as a companion if you were a rogue. How might the story change if neither surviving Hawke sibling were a mage?


	3. A Present from Starkhaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the eve of taking his vows as a priest, Sebastian receives a gift from his father.

“May the blessings of the Maker, and his beloved bride Andraste be with you and stay with you, now and always.”

At the murmured response from the faithful, the choir began the Chant that signaled the end of the service. 

Brother Sebastian smiled and stepped down from the lectern. He was more than satisfied. His sermon had gone well, and on the morrow he would take his vows as a brother of the faith. 

He hadn’t wanted this life, had actively fought against it in the beginning, and yet in it he had found a purpose, a fulfilment that he had never had as a prince of Starkhaven. He once again thanked Andraste for leading him here, for showing him this. Tomorrow he would take his vows gladly, with no hesitation. 

He stood at the doorway, thanking people for coming, blessing them when they asked. 

The last of the flock had left the Chantry, and he turned to find Sister Petrice standing there, a catlike smile on her face. She had only been assigned to the Kirkwall chantry for a few months, transferred from Tantervale.

He nodded in greeting. “Sister.” 

“They were eating out of your hand.” She said, her admiration clear in her voice.

“If my sermon reached people then I’m glad.” He said lightly.

“It’s more than that.” She sounded fascinated, her cold grey eyes appraising him as she spoke. “How do you do it? With just your voice, your eyes, your smile, you manipulate a whole crowd.” 

Sebastian tried to control the sudden flare of dislike he felt. “It’s the Maker’s word that people respond to.” 

She gave him a knowing smile. “Nonsense. I’ve seen you doing it time and again. You could go far in the Chantry with that skill.”

Her words detracted from the contentment he felt. There had certainly been a time when he had deliberately used his charm and his looks to get his own way, to entice people into doing what he wished, but no longer. He had given that up ten years ago when he had walked freely in through Chantry’s front doors. There were those who thought that, as a prince, his ambition must be to rise as high as he could in the Chantry. They would never understand that he was content to simply lead his flock and aid and comfort those who needed it, to simply share the words of Andraste and the Maker. The last time he had seen his father they had argued about that very thing and parted bitterly. He let none of the emotions roused by the memory show on his face as he smiled benignly at Sister Petrice. “You have an active imagination, sister.” 

Her lips curved again as she stepped closer and leaned towards him. Not touching him, but too close. She was tall for a woman and her mouth was just by his ear. “I do.” She whispered, her breath warm against his skin.

He felt nothing but irritation. It wasn’t the first time she had done this. Stood just a little too near. Made remarks. Implying. Insinuating. Always carefully. Always with words that would sound innocent if repeated to anyone else. 

He might be a priest now, but he hadn’t suddenly become a fool. He knew very well what she was offering. He stepped back, refusing to be caught up in her game, and fixed her with a steady look. “An active imagination can be both a blessing and a curse. You should be careful, Sister Petrice.”

Her mouth tightened just a little and then, with a small smile that did not quite reach her eyes, she apparently accepted his rejection. “I’m always careful, Brother Sebastian.” 

Oh yes, he thought watching her. Careful and calculating, and most of all ambitious. Having grown up in the scheming court of Starkhaven, he recognized that all too well. He wouldn’t be surprised if Petrice's ambitions went all the way to the seat of Chantry power in Orlais. 

“Was there something else you needed, Sister?" He asked, when she made no move to leave.

“The Grand Cleric wishes to see you.” She said casually. 

Annoyance flared again. “Then if you’ll excuse me.” He said. He walked past her, leaving her standing there, feeling her eyes on his back.

He went straight up to Elthina’s office, pausing at the open door. She was reading at her desk, her grey head bent over some correspondence, and he knocked gently to get her attention. She looked up, and smiled warmly when she saw him.

“You wished to see me, Grand Cleric?” he asked.

“Come in Sebastian.” She said, happiness plain in her voice. “I did. I so enjoyed your sermon this morning. You have truly found your place. I am so proud of you.” 

He felt a rush of emotion at her words. I am so proud of you. Words he had never heard from his own parents, but how much more they meant coming from Elthina, who knew like no other how difficult the road leading here had been for him. 

“Thank you. I wouldn’t be here at all had it not been for your belief in me.”

“Nonsense, child. You would have heard the Maker’s calling you to his service even without my presence.” 

“But would I have heeded it?” he said with a smile. “I’m just stubborn enough that I might have refused to listen, just to spite others.” 

“You are ready for the ceremony tomorrow?” She asked. 

“I am.” He said confidently. 

She looked at him with approval. “Good. I agree. However, I didn’t call you here just to talk about that.” She gestured to the table by the door. “A parcel has arrived for you from Starkhaven. Via royal messenger.”

“From my parents?” He asked in surprise. After the words they had exchanged he didn’t think his father would acknowledge his taking his vows in any way. And yet he had sent something. A large something from the size of the box. Had his father finally accepted, finally understood?

“Go on.” Coaxed Elthina. “Open it.”

He crossed to the table and lifted the cover from the box. And stared. The man just didn’t have a clue, was his first thought. 

Elthina noticed the annoyed look on his face and came around to peer into the crate, frowning when she saw what it contained. 

“Honestly. Armor for a Chantry priest.” Sebastian muttered. Trust his father to force him to join the Chantry and then, when he was about to take his vows, give him armor in the gold and white of Starkhaven. Possibly the most useless armor in the world, he thought as he lifted out the breastplace to look at it more closely. Armor that would make him a gleaming white target in any battle. His hand ran over it, in spite of himself. He had to admit the workmanship was flawless. A glimmer of gold still in the box caught his eye. 

“What in the world?” he asked, as he reached in and pulled out what, at first sight, appeared to be a small sculpture. But it wasn’t a sculpture. It was a belt buckle. An Andraste head belt buckle.

“Oh, dear.” Said Elthina, looking at it. 

She and Sebastian exchanged a look. He looked back at the belt buckle. It was … just awful, reminiscent of the tawdriest of souvenirs sold outside the Grand Cathedral in Orlais. He glanced back at Elthina, who was still staring at the buckle and noticed the corner of her mouth twitching. She caught his eye, and suddenly they were both laughing. 

“Oh my.” She said when their laughter finally subsided. “I fear that your father hasn’t quite understood the nature of the vows you will be taking tomorrow.” 

“He might as well have sent written instructions: you may be a priest, but your first duty will be to Starkhaven.” Sebastian said, his exasperation plain in his voice. He felt foolish for thinking his father had changed his views. He would never understand.

Elthina patted his arm gently. “His first duty is to his kingdom. The cares of ruling weigh heavily upon him. He will come to accept that your first duty is now to the Chantry.”

“I hope so, Grand Cleric.” Privately, Sebastian had his doubts. 

“Trust in the Maker, Sebastian. Has He not led you to His service? He will show your father the truth of your calling.”

He felt the certainty of her words settle upon him. “Thank you, Grand Cleric.” 

He took the armor back to his room and pushed the box under his narrow bed, forgetting about it. He felt far removed from the intrigues of the politics and court of Starkhaven, and felt a great sense of relief that it was so. His life was here in Kirkwall now, sworn to the service of Andraste, and doing the Maker’s work. 

Nothing was going to change that. 

He returned to his duties in the Chantry with a light heart. 

He was blessed indeed.


	4. Remind Me About Hawke

The dwarf watched as the Red Iron mercenary guzzled down his ale, waiting until the man had put down his tankard before he spoke.

“So. Tell me what’s new with the Red Iron.”

The man wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Dunno. Things have been tense. Meeran’s fighting with Hawke a lot. Says Hawke don’t show him proper respect.”

“And is that true?”

“Well, she ain’t afraid to speak her mind, that’s for sure.” The man said with a guffaw of laughter.

“She? Hawke is a woman?” The dwarf frowned. How had he missed that detail, he wondered. He was slipping up. He made a mental note to hire more urchins.

“Yeah. Her brother works with us too, but she’s the voice of the pair.” 

There were two. Maybe that was it. The dwarf leaned back in his chair, resting his elbows on the arms and touching the tips of his fingers together, considering. “Remind me about Hawke.” he instructed. He watched the flames in the fireplace as the man spoke.

“They're Fereldan refugees. Brother and sister, like I said. You’d never know they were related to look at them, ‘cept they’ve got the same weird colored eyes.” The contact swallowed some more ale and belched before continuing. “He’s a solid fighter. Huge, hulking guy. Brutish. She’s the one to watch though. I thought she was just a kid at first. Tiny, pale little thing. Fights with two daggers. And fast. More like one of them acrobats you see than a fighter. And real smart. Gets the Red Iron more jobs than Meeran ever has. Better jobs. And the boys like working with her. Meeran don’t like that one bit.”

The dwarf didn’t comment, tapping his index fingers against each other, watching the fire thoughtfully as the mercenary continued talking.

“She does the strangest thing though. Hums when she fights. Thought I actually heard her singing the other night.”

Varric’s eyes flashed to him. “Really?” he asked.

The mercenary nodded. “Says it helps her fight. Makes Meeran nuts. Well, pretty much everything she does she makes Meeran nuts.”

Varric thought of the song he sang to Bianca when they fought. It helped him concentrate, helped him focus. Helped him keep a rhythm, a pattern. He hadn’t known anyone else did that. “How much longer have they got on their contract with Meeran?” he asked.

“Another month. Meeran’s none too happy about that. Hawke’s been real open about the fact that when the contract’s done she don’t want nothing to do with him no more. Don’t matter how Meeran yells and shouts or if he tries flattering her. Says she’s done working for him.”

Varric remained silent for a moment, and then got up from his chair, tossing another coin at the mercenary. He opened the door to the suite, letting in all the noise in from the bar below. “Go get yourself another drink. Be sure to let me know if anything changes.”

He shut the door after the mercenary left, once again muffling the sounds from downstairs. He returned to his chair, staring into the fire.

A month, thought Varric. He could wait a month. The way Bartrand was running this expedition they wouldn’t be leaving for a year. This Hawke could be the person he needed. He might just go looking for her when her time with the Red Iron was up.


	5. Burning Bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hawkes end their association with the Red Iron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger warning: this chapter contains an attempted, albeit unsuccessful, sexual assault.

Hawke stalked into the Red Iron’s headquarters, ignoring the greetings called out from a couple of the men as she passed.

They watched as she stormed past them and slammed into Meeran's office, not bothering to close the door after her. 

The two men exchanged glances. "Storm's comin'." said one of them.

"Shit." commented the other. "They ever gonna' stop buttin' heads?"

"What do you think? Just deal the cards." They went back to their game.

Meeran looked up from the meeting he'd been having and scowled at her. "You ever heard of knocking, Hawke?" 

She ignored his remark and threw the pouch with their payment on his desk in front of him. It opened and coins flew everywhere.

“There. I don’t know just what you’re trying to prove, constantly sending me into situations without all the information I need. I can’t quite figure out if you’re trying to get me killed, or if you’re just that ignorant about the jobs you accept, but whichever it is, it’s really starting to lose its charm.” 

Without waiting for a response she turned and stalked out, ignoring Meeran's order not to walk away from him, and headed up to the bath. Two more weeks, she thought. Just two more weeks of putting up with this crap. She had been fighting with Meeran for months now. They had entirely different ways of leading, and though he would never admit it Hawke had been doing her fair share of leading the Red Iron lately. The men respected her, listened to her, and had noticed that her jobs tended to yield more money and fewer corpses. Meeran’s response was to find fault with how she’d handled every aspect of a job and then give her a more difficult assignment. But lately he had taken to leaving crucial information out of her assignments. Today was just the latest example. A simple job, he'd said. No need to take anyone else along. Just take out the leader of those smugglers, she wouldn't have anyone else with her. And then she'd found herself surrounded by six other smugglers. She'd done the job, and gotten out of there, but it had been too close. She was going to have a bath, and a drink, possibly at the same time, and forget about it.

She crossed the room and coaxed the old boiler into lighting. It was the one good thing about working for the Red Iron. Access to a real bath. The building the Red Iron used at their headquarters was a rundown mansion which somehow still had functioning plumbing. She sometimes thought she wouldn’t have lasted the year without that perk. Bathing at Gamlen’s meant a small hip bath in front of a smokey fire.

While the water heated and filled the ancient tub, she hung out the shingle she’d made. Originally it had read “Occupied” which had tended to be ignored. Her current sign read, “Stay the Fuck Out”, which was taken much more seriously. She hesitated for a moment before closing the door. She usually had Carver stand guard as well, which meant any chance of really relaxing in there was interrupted by Carver’s repeated questions of “Maker, aren’t you done yet?”, but she just wanted a bath. Now. Plus, given the time of day, Carver was probably already at that tavern he'd started frequenting. She wasn't going to wait for him to show up. She wasn’t really worried. She had enough of a reputation among the men that they didn’t dare come in while she was there. And she’d only had to stab one of the mercenaries for that to work. Of course, she thought with a small smile as she stripped down to her smalls, that might have had to do with where she had stabbed him. 

She pulled off her helmet, letting down her hair, and running her fingers through the tangled red curls. It felt good to let it out. When they finally made some money, she was never going to wear anything on her head again. She was starting to unlace her breastband when the door slammed open. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are talking to me like that when I've got prospective clients in with me?” snarled Meeran. He'd had to stay and reassure the man of the Red Iron's competence after Hawke's interuption and he'd nearly lost the job. Then he saw her and his mouth dropped open.

Hawke whirled around, clutching her breastband to her chest. Her hair gave her some cover at least. “Andraste’s Ass, Meeran, didn’t you see the sign? Get the hell out.” 

Meeran just stared. For just a moment when he’d seen her he’d actually thought she was someone else. How in the void had she managed to hide herself so well for the last year? He’d thought she was some skinny, boyish kid. The armor she wore showed no shape, she always had that stupid helmet on. How in the Maker's name had it covered up all that hair? His eyes traveled greedily over her. She was small, yeah, but perfect. Long legs, slender waist and an ass just asking to be smacked. He felt himself start to get hard. 

“Didn’t you hear me? Get the fuck out!” She tried to keep the panic out of her voice. She recognized the look in his eye, though she couldn’t remember anyone directing it at her before. 

Meeran saw the flicker of fear in her eyes with some satisfaction. He felt himself smile. She’d been getting way too cocky the last few months. He couldn’t believe he’d never considered this as a way of taking her down a peg. Not taking his eyes off her, he reached behind him shutting the door.

“Well, look what you’ve been hiding all this time.” He said with a smirk. He still couldn't quite believe it. He walked over to her, lifting a long red curl. “Never would have thought you were a ginger.” Not with those dark brows and lashes. So many gingers were pale rabbity things. She knocked his hand away and glared at him and he grinned. She was a fiery one, waves of red curls falling past her breasts, almost to her waist. His eyes traveled over her and back up to her face. He watched her swallow hard and realized he’d never seen her look vulnerable before. 

He liked it. 

Meeran had barely registered her as female the year she'd been working for him. To realize what had been under that armor the whole time...he'd been missing an opportunity, and he hadn't become the leader of the most successful mercenary group in Kirkwall by missing opportunities. 

And this one would have the twofold effect of keeping Hawke in the Red Iron, and keeping her in line.

He saw her eyes flicker to her weapons and he walked casually over, placing himself between her and them.

She tried to dampen down the rising wave of panic. So her weapons were out of reach. Think Hawke. Put on her clothes? No, she couldn’t risk it. Left her too vulnerable. Every instinct was telling her to try and cover up her mostly undressed self, but she forced herself to step back from him and casually tightened and reknotted the strings on her breastband. She dropped her hands to her sides, and gave him what she hoped was a cool look. “I don’t see what the color of my hair has to do with anything.” She reached up and gathered her hair together, twisting it into a loose knot, never taking her eyes off him. At least that would keep it out of her face.

Meeran just watched her with that small smirk of a smile on his face. He couldn’t help admire her trying to brazen out the situation, but then Hawke had never suffered from a lack of gall. He noted the way her breasts lifted when she raised her arms to tie back her hair. Once it was tied back he had an unimpeded view of her body. He didn’t think he’d ever seen skin that white. She had a sprinkling of freckles on her face over the bridge of her nose and her cheeks which had just added to the impression of gawkiness and youth, and he'd just assumed they'd cover her whole body, but those freckles were nowhere else. Just smooth pale skin, and curves and fiery curls, and that rich red mouth. His hands were literally itching to touch her.

She never had told him her age. Nineteen or twenty, he guessed now. 

More than old enough.

His silence was unnerving her. She leaned against the edge of the now full tub, looking around the room, surveying everything there, trying to come up with something that could help get her out of this. Play for time, she told herself. "What do you want Meeran?” 

He walked over to stand in front of her. “Your time with the Red Iron’s almost up. I was thinking we might come to an arrangement.” He ran a finger down her arm.

She shrugged out of his touch. “I’ve told you. We’re not working for you anymore. What makes you think I'd agree to any sort of arrangement with you?” 

“Because I’ve got something new to offer now.” He moved closer until he was just inches away. “And I think you might like this arrangement." He wasn't that tall a man, but she was small enough that she had to tilt her head to look at him. "You and me. Together. Running things. Doing jobs.” He leaned in until his face was inches from her own. “Doing each other, maybe.” He breathed into her ear. 

She turned her head away.

His hand went to her chin and he tilted it sharply up so she was forced to look into his eyes. “And I don’t recall telling you that you had a choice in the matter.” He dropped her chin and stepped slightly back.

She saw his breath coming harder, knew what he wanted. Use it, insisted some part of her brain.

She ran her tongue nervously over her lips, and saw how his eyes followed the movement. An idea popped into her head. She dropped her eyes, closing them briefly, wondering if she could pull it off. She didn't have a choice. 

“You think that would work? You and me?” she said in a throaty voice. She lifted her eyes and looked up at him. The look in her eyes was different now, he saw. He smiled.

“Oh yeah.” his hand reached out and caught her by the wrist, and he pulled her slowly towards him.

She swallowed hard and forced herself to lean into him, and bring her hands up, running them across his chest, pulling at the laces of his leather jerkin, willing herself not to cringe as his hands went to the bare skin of her waist. 

“Yeah?” She challenged. She turned him as she spoke, so he was against the tub and wriggled her way between his legs, trying to ignore the hardness she felt pressing against her. 

He felt a thrill of satisfaction. Oh, she was hungry for it all right.

One small hand stroked down toward his belt. Maker's tits, he felt like he was going to burst. His head dropped back as he savored the feel of her touch. He felt a sudden yank at his waist, but before he could react to it, she’d brought her knee swiftly up into his groin and pushed him so he toppled back into the bath. When he came up spluttering and cursing, feeling sick from the pain in his balls, she was behind him and his own dagger was at his throat. 

“I’d sooner do a darkspawn.” She hissed in his ear. 

“You bitch.” He couldn’t even straighten up. 

“Out of the tub.” She ordered. 

She kept the dagger at his throat as he complied, cursing her roundly as she grabbed and twisted one arm painfully up behind his back, her thumb pressing insistently against a pressure point in his hand that kept a steady current of pain running through him. She pushed him against a nearby chair and he fell into it with a grunt. 

“Hands behind you.” She ordered. When he hesitated, she pressed the point of the dagger lightly against his throat, just hard enough to break the skin. He quickly put his hands behind him. Grabbing her belt with one hand she quickly bound his hands together through the back of the chair. It wouldn’t hold him for long, but it would let her get out of here. 

She stepped back to look at him, her contempt showing in her eyes. “We’re done, Meeran. Carver and I.” Her hair had come loose again, and she looked like a wild thing standing there, barely clothed, fiery curls everywhere. She threw his dagger in the corner of the room, and grabbed her clothes.

“You still owe me two weeks, Hawke.” He snarled, watching her pull on her leather armor, and shove her feet into her boots.

“Take us to court then, why don’t you?” She said with a smirk as she tucked her hair back under her leather helmet. Grabbing her daggers, she opened the door and hesitated for a moment. 

Meeran could almost believe the disguise. But there were some things you couldn’t un-see.

He might have forgiven her if she hadn't turned, grinned and raised her hand in saucy salute.

“I wouldn’t burn your bridges, dog lord.” He shouted after her. “You’ll regret this.”

“Never.” She called over her shoulder, ignoring the stares of the men who had gathered at the bottom of the stairs as she ran past them, and feeling lighter than she had since coming to Kirkwall. “Never.” 

It wasn’t until she was a few blocks away, near the Lowtown market, that she realized what she had done. 

_Someone screws with us, we mess them up._

Oh, shit, she thought. Shit. What if he went after Carver? Shit. Fear slammed into her at the thought. The day's events threatened to overwhelm her and she suddenly felt light headed and she couldn't catch her breath. She leaned over one of the nearby barrels resting her head on her arms, trying to breathe. Her cap fell off and her hair tumbled down around her. There was a rushing sound in her ears. Was this what fainting felt like? Was she actually going to faint?

Carver saw her immediately when he stepped out of the tavern. No one else had hair like that. “Anabel?” he called. She turned to look at him, her face pale as parchment. He ran over to her, ignoring the outraged cries of a matron he plowed into as he pushed past. He grabbed his sister by her shoulders forcing her to look at him. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?” 

She looked absolutely panicked. "I did something stupid.” She couldn’t breathe properly, Maker, why couldn't she breathe properly?

“What happened?” demanded Carver, a feeling of dread growing.

"I was taking a bath, and Meeran came in, and he wanted...” Her breath caught and she looked up at him with big frightened eyes. But nothing frightened Anabel. The words she had spoken sank in. Oh Maker. 

His hands gripped painfully tight on her shoulders. “Did he touch you? Did he hurt you?” he shouted. He would kill Meeran if he had.

"No! Sort of. Not like you're thinking. I mean he wanted to, I think he wanted to. But I, but I.” She couldn’t breathe again. 

He’d never seen her like this. He pulled her into an gentle embrace and held her, rubbing her back softly. "Slow down Little Hawke, just breathe.” the combination of her chilhood nickname and his reassuring presence began to soothe her. He kept rubbing until her breathing had calmed. He pulled back to look at her. “Tell me what happened.” 

She took a deep breath. “I was going to get in the bath, and he came in and just looked at me and closed the door. And he wouldn’t let me get dressed again, I couldn’t get to my knives, and he said that he had another idea, that we could run things together, be together…” She swallowed. 

He would kill him. 

Anabel was speaking again. “And then he was right there and touching me and…” 

His hands tightened again on her shoulders. “And what?” 

“And I stole his dagger and kneed him in the balls.” 

He stared at her. And then started laughing. 

“Maker, Carver it’s not funny. He’s going to be furious when he gets untied.” 

“You tied him up, and just left him there?” 

She nodded. "After I pushed him in the bath." He started laughing again, so loudly that people were staring. 

She hit him on the arm. “Stop laughing! You’ve seen what he does to people he thinks have double crossed him. Andraste’s ass. that’s how we met him.” 

Carver sobered at that. “Shit.” 

“Yeah, that was pretty much the conclusion I reached.” She let out a shuddering breath, and glanced up at him. “What if he comes after you because of what I did?"

He just stared at her. "You idiot. That's what's worrying you?"

"Well, after twenty years I've gotten used to having you around." 

She was upset not because she'd almost been raped, but because he might get hurt. He would never figure her out. "You're so stupid." he said.

She shrugged. "I never claimed sense was my strong suit." 

Some of the color was back in her face. "You sure you're okay?" he asked. 

"Yeah. I mean it's not an experience I'd like to repeat, but he didn't really do anything." She shuddered, in spite of herself and then gave him an apologetic look. "We’re unemployed now, by the way. I told him we were finished with the Red Iron.”

He shrugged. "That was happening anyway. So we’ll get jobs on our own. People know us now. Kurt told me more people come asking for you than Meeran lately.” He didn't mention that at the time Kurt had been goading him about his sister being a better mercenary than he was.

“Really?” she looked surprised. 

“Really.” He reached down and picked up her helmet putting it on her head and tucking her hair up into it. “Don’t worry about the other thing. You think Meeran’s going to spread the story of you kicking him in the balls and tying him up? Nah. He’ll keep that one to himself. And if he starts attacking people for no apparent reason it's going to mess with that reputation he's so proud of.” 

It made sense actually. She looked at him impressed. “Just when I think you’re a complete moron, you figure out something like that.” 

“Oh, thanks for that.” 

She just grinned, and then leaned her head against him. He put his arm around her. "We'll start asking around for work tomorrow. Don't worry. We'll find something."


	6. At Your Service

Varric looked up from the couch where he’d been lounging looking over a history of the lost thaigs, as Bartrand came stomping in from the Merchant’s Guild courtyard. “Damned dog lord humans.” He was muttering. 

“Problems, brother?” 

“Every sodding Fereldan refugee is pestering me about joining the expedition, insisting they know more about dealing with darkspawn than I do.” 

“Never expected to be so popular?” he teased. 

Bartrand ignored his younger brother. "These last two? Shabbiest of the bunch. Brother and sister. The girl’s just a kid, insisting they’ve got what we need. I told them to find another sodding meal ticket.”

Brother and sister. He sat upright. “He’s a big guy? She carries two daggers?” 

“How should I know?” said Bartrand. “What are you getting all worked up about?”

“Did you get their name?” 

“I don’t know." Bartrand was looking through a stack of Merchant's Guild contracts, already forgetting about the humans he'd left in the courtyard. "Some bird. Falcon? Eagle?”

Varric resisted the urge to smack his forehead. “Hawke?” he suggested.

Bartrand looked at him suspiciously. “Maybe.”

“Ancestors, Bartrand!” he grabbed Bianca and pushed past Bartrand and out of the office.

“What?” Bartrand called after him. 

Varric hurried down the winding halls of the Merchant’s Guild. He'd only just heard about Hawke's falling out with Meeran the night before, though apparently it had happened more than a week ago. The Red Iron was being very hush hush about exactly what had transpired between Hawke and Meeran and even Varric's coin and charm hadn't been able to get all the details only that the word was out if anyone expected to do business with the Red Iron, they wouldn't hire Hawke. He certainly hadn't expected Hawke to come to them, or to come so soon. If he went out the side entrance he should be able to cut them off. He rushed out into the daylight and looked around. He spotted them just rounding the corner, talking earnestly. He smiled. They looked exactly as he’d imagined. She really did look like a kid. As he watched them someone jostled past her. He saw her mouth an apology and then her hand went to her waist. 

“Hey!” he heard her shout, and the thief started running. He smiled and pulled Bianca off his back. A perfect opening, he thought. He couldn't have written it better himself. He waited until the thief was across for him before firing one shot and pinning the man to the side of the building. He strolled over as the thief struggled and whined.

“I knew a guy once who could take every coin out of your pockets just by smiling at you. But you. You don’t have the style to work Hightown, let alone the Merchant’s Guild.” He held out his hand expectantly.

The thief whimpered and dropped Hawke’s purse into it.

He smiled convivially at the man. “You might want to find yourself a new line of work.” He punched him in the jaw and immediately yanked out the bolt from the man’s shoulder. “Run along now.” He watched the man’s retreating form. He shook his head. “Amateurs.” He turned to face the two Hawkes as they came running up and tossed the girl the purse.

Hawke caught it easily, looking surprised. He couldn’t blame her. There weren’t many in Kirkwall who made it a practice to return full purses. 

“How do you do? The name’s Varric Tethras, at your service.” His eyes twinkled, but didn’t miss a thing as he looked them both over. Those blue and green eyes really were remarkable, he thought as the pair exchange a glance. “I apologize for Bartrand. He wouldn’t know an opportunity if it hit him in the jaw.”

The girl grinned. “Carver nearly did.” 

He noticed her dimple as she smiled. She might be pretty, if she were cleaned up. Hard to tell with that cap on. “Yes, Bartrand has that effect on people.”

She frowned. “Are you any relation to the esteemed Bartrand?”

She was quick. “Indeed. What my brother doesn’t realize is that we need someone like you.”

She and Carver exchanged a puzzled look. “Someone like us? You don’t even know who we are.” 

“On the contrary. The name Hawke is on many lips these days. Fereldan refugee. Meeran’s second in command, whether or not he admits it. You’ve made quite a name for yourself in the last year.”

“You’ve heard of us?” she seemed genuinely surprised

“A great deal about you. A little of your brother.”

Carver snorted. “Figures.” He loved his sister, he really did, but just once it would be nice to be noticed on his own merits. He tried, unsuccessfully, not to sulk.

“Could you persuade your brother to hire us on then?” she sounded hopeful.

“Not precisely. He’s right, we don’t need another hireling.” Her face fell, though she tried to hide it. “What we really need is a partner. Invest in the expedition.”

She just laughed. Not bitterly, Varric noticed. “It’s a lovely idea, but if we had that kind of coin we wouldn’t need to join the expedition.”

“You need to think bigger, Hawke. The Deep Roads are never emptier than right after a blight. The treasure you find down there could set you and your family up for life. It’s a window of opportunity.”

“But it’s not a window that’ll stay open long.” He looked at her in surprise as she sighed. “I know, it’d be a fantastic chance. But honestly, we don’t have the money.”

The brother snorted. “Thanks to Meeran.”

The girl shot him a look and then turned back to Varric. “We’ve been having some trouble with our former employer. He’s been…” she hesitated “shall we say, dissuading people from hiring us.” She explained.

Varric dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “Don't worry about him. Kirkwall's crawling with work. You set a little aside from each job and we work together you and I, and you’ll have the funds in no time.”

She frowned. “How could you help us?” 

“I know everyone in this city worth knowing. You’d be surprised by the things I hear. I keep a set of rooms at the Hanged Man. Come, let me buy you both lunch. We’ll discuss the details in private.” 

She looked at him carefully for a minute, and then grinned. “Well, it’s not like we had anything better planned.”

He stepped aside, gesturing towards the stairs to Lowtown with a smile. “Let's see what trouble we can stir up, shall we?”

Her eyes were merry. “I do love stirring up trouble.”

Her brother snorted. “That’s an understatement.” 

She just laughed and hooked her arm through his dragging him along. “Let’s take a look at the Chanter’s Board before we head to Lowtown.” She said. “I have a feeling we’ll find something interesting.” 

Varric watched the pair ahead of him. Well, what do you know, he thought, as they walked past the Keep towards the Chantry. He liked her. He hadn’t really expected that.


	7. The Last of His Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian learns of his family's fate.

Sebastian struggled to comprehend what he had just heard.

“All of them?” he asked. “The children too?” He thought of the pleasure he’d had getting to know his nieces and nephews when he’d accompanied Elthina on that last trip to Starkhaven. How they’d clambered on to his lap. How he’d taken the older boys fishing in the Minanter.

“Sometimes the Maker’s will is difficult to understand.” Murmured Elthina, grief and worry for him plain upon her face.

Sebastian just stared at her. The Maker’s will? The Maker’s will that a babe less than three months old be slaughtered in its cradle? That his whole family be wiped out, be murdered in their home by a gang of common mercenaries? A dull roar grew in his head, and he no longer even heard what Elthina was saying. Without a word he pushed back the chair he had been sitting in and left her office. He blindly made his way towards his room, He felt the eyes upon him as he passed by. Apparently word of the tragedy had already spread.

He retreated into the cell that had been his for the last ten years. All dead. His parents. His brothers. Their wives. And those children. And he, stuck in the Chantry, helpless to save them. His chest was tight and his priest’s robes suddenly felt stifling. He unfastened them and yanked them off over his head, throwing them to the ground. He spotted the corner of the box underneath the bed, and suddenly he knew what he had to do. He pulled it out and opened it. The armor, which just a few weeks ago had seemed so ridiculously inappropriate, gleamed whitely up at him. He stared at it a moment and then reached down. There was some fumbling as he remembered exactly how to buckle it on. The belt buckle with the head of Andraste, which when he had first seen it had bordered on the vulgar seemed to give implicit sanction to his actions as he fastened it at his hips. His bow and quiver were still in his wardrobe. His fingers seemed to come alive with remembrance as he strung the bow, and tested it.

He sat briefly at his desk and scribbled a notice for the Chanter’s Board. When he was done he threw the quill on the table and grabbed the parchment. He pushed out of his room and stormed down the stairs ignoring Sister Emmeline’s puzzled “Brother Sebastian?” as he passed by her. He heard Elthina call out his name and ignored her. She caught up to him at the great doors.

“Sebastian. What are you doing?” she asked.

“Avenging my family.” He said grimly reaching for the handle.

“The Maker will avenge your family.” she pleaded.

He whirled around to face her. “The Maker? The Maker stood silent while my family was killed, slaughtered. Women and children. Young and old. All of them. By mercenaries, for gold. And I will see every last one of them punished, executed for those crimes!” He was shouting now.

“Your vows prevent you from using violence.” She said sternly.

He whirled around to face her. “Then I renounce my vows!” He snarled, his face almost unrecognizable.

The shock on Elthina’s face should have made him pause, but he didn’t. 

“I renounce my vows.” He repeated in a louder voice. He heard the sisters and brothers gasp in horror. The few of the devout who were here at this time of day looked equally dismayed. He looked around, meeting each gaze. “I am Sebastian Vael, the last of my line and Prince of Starkhaven.” His voice rang out through the Chantry. “I renounce my vows. And I will have vengeance!”

He turned and continued down the stairs, feeling rather than seeing Elthina behind him. Not hearing the words she was speaking. He walked to the chanter’s board and pinned the parchment to it.

“Sebastian, stop this madness. The Chantry cannot condone revenge.” Elthina should have sounded stern but there was too much desperation in her voice.

He turned to face her, his blue eyes cold. “It is my right, my duty to show these assassins “ he spat the word out “that there is nowhere in the Free Marches for them to hide.” He spun on his heel and stalked away towards the Viscount’s Keep.

Elthina pulled his parchment down and held it out to him. “This is murder.” She called after him.

He pulled out an arrow and without even thinking, aimed and released it skewering the parchment out of Elthina’s hand and firmly to the Chanter’s Board. Some part of him noticed Elthina’s flinch of fear, but he ignored it.

No.” He corrected coldly. “What happened to my family was murder.” He pushed blindly past a group of people who were gawking at him and continued towards the Keep.

  


  


It was late when he returned to the Chantry. The Viscount had murmured sympathetic words and hollow platitudes and ignored his pleas for troops and men, saying they’d discuss it some other time. He’d wandered through Kirkwall, not seeing anything but the vision of his murdered family, not hearing anything but their screams as their children were slaughtered in front of them.

He couldn’t face Elthina yet. Not after his earlier actions. He stood, looking around his room which seemed suddenly small, unsure of what to do next. There was a gentle knock on the door. He ignored it. He didn’t want to see anyone.

“Sebastian, It’s Elthina. May I come in?” The voice, so gentle, so filled with concern.

He crossed numbly and opened the door and then turned and sat on his bed, looking down at the floor. She pulled the chair from his desk to sit in front of him, leaning over and taking his hand in hers. He looked up at her seeing the love and compassion in her warm grey eyes.

“I renounced my vows.” He said hoarsely.

She looked at him sadly.

“I renounced my vows in front of witnesses.” His eyes were bleak. “I’m no longer a brother of the Chantry, am I?”

“No.” She said softly.

He nodded in acknowledgment of her confirmation, and then looked around, uncertain. “I don’t know what to do.” He admitted.

“You have a home here, for as long as you need it.” Said Elthina. “You can serve as a lay brother for now. And your vows can be retaken after some time has passed.”

“I don’t know if I can. I’m the last of my family. I have a duty…” His voice trailed off. The prize that he had so desperately wanted when he was younger was his. But he didn’t want it now. Not this way.

“Rest now.” Said Elthina. “These are decisions that can be made at a later date.”

He lifted his eyes to hers, looking suddenly like a little boy. “My family is dead.” His face crumpled and he sank to his knees, burying his face in her lap and weeping as he hadn’t since he was a child, as she stroked his hair and murmured comforting words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [P is for Prince](http://archiveofourown.org/works/589880) takes place at the same time as this chapter, and shows the events in front of the Chantry from Hawke's point of view.


	8. So That's the Elf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lead on a job leads to an encounter with some slavers...and an elf.

Things seemed to be looking up, Anabel thought as they climbed the stairs to Gamlen’s house. They’d left the house this morning with only a vague idea of signing on to Bartrand’s expedition and they now had a plan and actual jobs. Jobs -- plural. For pay.

They needed to help Aveline out with those mysterious bandits. Help out that supposed lady pirate, hopefully without Aveline finding out. She didn’t need another lecture about the company she was keeping. They’d need to head down to Lowtown to find this warden, and see what kind of help he could give them. They should head out to Sundermount now that their time didn’t belong to the Red Iron. They could deliver that amulet to the Dalish and take care of those mercenaries who were after Sebastian Vael. Sebastian Vael. Prince Sebastian Vael. She thought about how he’d looked as he stormed away from the Chantry. He was possibly the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. 

“You just going to stand there or are you going to actually open the door?” Asked Carver.

She looked at him and realized she had stopped walking and was just standing at the door. “Sorry.” She muttered.

Carver gave her a knowing look. “You were thinking about that prince again, weren’t you?”

She blushed. “No. I wasn’t.”

He grinned at her. “Right.”

She glared at him. “Shut up.”

They walked into the house to hear mother going on at Gamlen. “We should all be nobility!”

Gamlen glanced up at her and she gave him a sympathetic look.

“There’s a letter for you on the desk.” He said ignoring Leandra’s diatribe and finishing his soup.

She walked over to look at it.

_Hawke,_  
 _You were a pain in the ass to deal with, but a bloody talented one. If you get sick of being just another unemployed refugee in this shithole, maybe we can grab a drink. If there's any odd jobs my boys can't handle, I'll send them your way._  
 _You're welcome,_  
 _Meeran_

This has been the strangest day, she thought. She looked up at Carver. “It’s from Meeran.” She said with a frown. He took it out of her hands and read it. They exchanged a look.

“He stopped by the house earlier to drop it off.” Said Leandra. “Such a charming man. Common, of course, and rough around the edges, but charming. He certainly regrets the tantrum you had that made you quit.”

“Oh, is that how he put it?” asked Hawke, rolling her eyes.

“Of course not, and don’t roll your eyes at me, young lady. He said he was sorry about the disagreement you had and you could come back any time and take him up on his offer. I think you should consider it.”

“Yeah. That’s not going to happen.” 

“You can be so selfish sometimes, Anabel. Think of Carver. How’s he going to get back the Amell mansion without your help?”

“Leave the girl alone, Leandra.” Said Gamlen. She shot him a look of gratitude.

“We wouldn’t need to do any of this if you hadn’t lost the inheritance.”

Gamlen pushed up from the table. “I’m going out.” He opened the door to find a small boy standing there.

“Got a message for Hawke.” said the boy, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, and holding out a note. 

Gamlen took it and passed it to Hawke. “You get more mail than I do.” He grumbled and pushed out of the house.

The little boy looked up at her hopefully. She looked down at him. “I’m afraid I don’t have any coin to give you.” she said regretfully.

He scowled and started to turn away.

“Wait a minute.” She called after him her voice concerned. “What’s that there?” She gestured towards his ear, looking worried.

“What?’ His hand scrambled at his ear.

“Hold still.” She reached out her hand to his ear and when she pulled it back there were two coppers in it. “Wealthy young man like you doesn’t need any of my coin. Why they’re just falling out of your head.” She smiled at him.

He looked momentarily alarmed and his hand went to his ear and then a tentative smile spread on his face as he looked from the coppers she held in her hand to her face.

“Go on,” she coaxed. “Take them.” He grinned and grabbed them before running away down the stairs.

When she turned Carver was scowling at her. “You are such a soft touch. We haven’t made any coin yet. You might want to remember that before you go tossing them away.” 

“Oh shush.” She said, and opened the letter. 

_Hawke,_  
 _A dwarf named Anso contacted the Red Iron looking for contract work. Wish I could take him up on it, but we've pressing business, so I recommended you. The dwarf pays well, so don't be a fool and miss out. Look for Anso in the Lowtown Bazaar at night if you're interested._  
 _Meeran_

She passed it wordlessly to Carver. He frowned as he read it. “Why’s he suddenly so friendly? You think it’s a trap?” 

“Maybe not a trap, but I’m sure it’s not as simple a job as he makes it sound.” She thought for a minute. “I suppose we could talk to this Anso. Maybe bring Varric along? See what he thinks.”

  
 

Their meeting with Anso led to a deserted room in an almost deserted house in the Alienage. They found the chest Anso had told them about in the back room. Hawke picked the lock easily, and opened it. 

“It’s empty.” She said in surprise.

“Bloody waste of time.” Grumbled Varric.

Hawke dropped the lid on the chest. “Why have so many people guarding an empty chest? It doesn’t make any sense. I should have known any job from Meeran would be missing crucial information.” She looked up at Varric and Carver. 

“So what now?” asked Carver.

“I suppose we head back to Anso and tell him we didn’t find anything.” She got to her feet and they headed out the door, only to be confronted by a gang of armed slavers.

“Uh-oh.” Said Hawke looking carefully around. She stopped counting at fifteen. “This is so not good.” She said under her breath.

“That’s not the elf!” Said one of the slavers, angrily.

Hawke and Varric exchanged a look.

“It’s true.” She said with a shrug. “I’m not the elf.”

“Well, don’t look at me. I’m not the elf.”

She looked almost apologetically at the slaver. “I don’t think the elf is here right now. Maybe you could come back tomorrow?”

“Shut up!” shouted the slaver, obviously thrown off stride by their banter. “Kill them!” she ordered. And then tumbled forward, Varric’s bolt sticking out of her throat. There was a fraction of a second of hesitation and then the slavers rushed forward. That fraction cost them dearly though. 

Only moments later they were dead. 

Varric looked around. “Maker’s breath Hawke. You do get results.” He had never seen anything like it.

Hawke was staring at him. “Was that you singing?” she asked tentatively.

“I thought it was you.” He grinned at her and she slowly smiled back.

“It was both of you.” Said Carver looking from one to the other. “And it’s bloody annoying, is what.”

She and Varric smiled stupidly at each other for a moment more, before Hawke turned her attention to the corpses. She turned one over with the toe of her boot and bent down to look more closely. “These aren’t Marchers.” 

Varric joined her. “Tevinter, I’d say. Slavers?”

“I suppose.” Hawke looked unconvinced. She looked around the empty Alienage. “They were looking for someone specific though, not just rounding up slaves. And they’re awfully well equipped compared to the other slavers I’ve run across.”

“Who cares about that? We’ve still got nothing to bring back to Anso.” complained Carver. “Shit, we’re never going to make any money.” 

She’d almost forgotten about Anso in the commotion. “Come on. I’ve got a few questions I’d like to ask Anso.” 

“Great. More talking.” Muttered Carver. 

“There, there. I promise to find something else for you to hit with your big sword soon.”

“Shut up.” She was getting irritating now that the dwarf was always around. He’d never met someone who could match Anabel quip for quip and the two of them seemed to have started a competition lately. He’d stopped even trying to follow most of their exchanges.

They walked towards the stairs only to be confronted by another slaver, his face filled with rage as he took in the bodies of his men. “I don’t know who you are, friend, but you made a serious mistake coming here.”

Varric nudged Hawke. “I don’t think he’s the elf either.” He said. She let out a snort of laughter before quickly composing her face into a serious expression. Carver just looked at both of them as if they were insane.

The man yelled over his shoulder. “Lieutenant! I want everyone in the clearing, now!”

Only one man appeared, however. He stumbled toward them.

“Captain.” The man said weakly, his voice choked with the blood pouring out of his mouth. Hawke couldn’t see a wound on him though. He fell dead at his captain’s feet.

A figure stepped out of the shadows behind him. An elf, taller and more muscled than most, and covered in elaborate tattoos. “Your men are dead, and your trap has failed. I suggest running back to your master while you can.” He didn’t bother even looking at the man as he walked past him towards Hawke and her friends.

The captain grabbed him by the shoulder. “You’re going nowhere, slave.”

The strange tattoos began to glow blue white and he turned to face the captain, hatred plain on his face. Without another word plunged his hand into the man’s chest, twisted and pulled it out again, unmarked. The man gasped in pain and dropped like a stone. The elf looked down at him. “I am not a slave.”

“I’d say that’s the elf.” Whispered Varric to Hawke. Hawke ignored him this time, and stepped forward looking curiously at both the slavers and the elf. 

The glow subsided and he looked at her, taking in her size, the shabby armor and mismatched blades, and frowned. “I apologize. When I asked Anso to find someone to distract the slavers I had no idea they’d be so numerous.”

“That was you?” she said, surprised. Maybe Meeran hadn’t been trying to kill her after all. “Who were they?” she asked curiously.

“Imperial bounty hunters sent to retrieve a magister’s lost property. Namely myself.”

She looked startled for a moment and her mouth settled in a satisfied line. “I’m glad we could help then.” She said. She looked up at him. “My name’s Hawke.”

He was frowning at her as he said. “I am Fenris. They were trying to lure me out in the open. There were too many to face alone.”

“We didn’t have any trouble with them.” She said with a shrug.

He raised an eyebrow and looked around at the bodies. He looked at each of them, and then his eyes came back to Hawke. “Impressive. Anso chose more wisely than I thought he would.” 

“Flatterer.” She said with a teasing smile.

He seemed taken aback, and frowned again. 

She looked at the corpses again. “It seems like a lot of trouble for one slave.” She commented as she looked back at him. “But you aren’t an ordinary slave are you? This has something to do with those markings?”

“Yes. I imagine I must look strange to you.” He tried to keep his tone light, but he seemed…embarrassed? Certainly uncomfortable. 

She mentally kicked herself for mentioning them. “I’m sorry. That was rather rude of me, wasn’t it?” 

He looked surprised at her words and seemed to appraise her again before he said. “I was not given them by choice. But they have their uses. Without them I would still be a slave.” 

Hawke looked down at the Captain and then back at Fenris. “Why fight them at all?” she asked with a tilt of her head. “Wouldn’t it be easier to run?” 

His markings seemed to flare a little as he said vehemently. “There comes a time when you must stop running. When you must turn and fight the tiger.”

She didn’t flinch as he’d expected she would. Instead she smiled approvingly. “Good. Happy to have helped.”

He couldn’t figure her out. “I’ve met few in my travels who sought anything more than personal gain.” He said sounding slightly confused. “Can I ask, what was in the chest?”

“The one in the house? It was empty.”

His face fell. “Of course. I had hoped… but it was just bait.”

“Are you all right?” asked Hawke, softly.

He glanced at her. “I must ask another favor of you.”

“Of course.”

He frowned again at her. “You do not even know what I ask.”

“True. But I know you’re alone and need help. I know the people you need help against are by anyone’s account bad people. And I approve of facing the tiger.” She smiled again at him. “Plus, I don’t have anything better to do tonight.” 

“I do.” Muttered Carver.

“Ignore my brother.” She said. “He’s not as fond of tiger fights as I am.”

“I believe my former master accompanied them and is in the city. I must confront him now, before he leaves. My funds are limited but I will find a way to pay you if you help me.”

“Don’t worry about that. Where is this former master?”

“He is staying at a mansion in the city. Up the stairs by the Chantry. Meet me there before daybreak.’

“I assume you want to do more than talk to him?”

The tattoos flared again. “Denarius wants to strip the flesh from my bones and has sent more Hunters after me than I can count. And before that he kept me on a leash like a qunari mage, a pet for his own amusement. So, yes. I intend to do more then talk.” The tattoos were glowing white now.

She nodded, seemingly unperturbed. “All right then. We’ll see you there.” 

His mouth opened, then shut as he frowned again in confusion and the glowing dimmed. “I…will see you there.”

They watched him walk away. 

“So that’s the elf.” Hawke said with a grin at Varric. “That was much more interesting than I expected.” 

“Something seems off about him.” Muttered Carver. 

Hawke considered Fenris’ retreating form. “I like him.” She said. 

  


Fenris was waiting for them outside the mansion when they got there. They fought their way through scores of demons and shades to the chamber where Fenris was convinced Denarius was hiding himself. One hand on the door of that chamber and an Arcane Horror rose behind them and a fresh wave shades came rushing up the stairs. It took all their skill before the shades had fallen and only the Horror remained.

Carver and Fenris hit it simultaneously with their swords and it finally fell as well. The sudden silence in the dilapidated mansion felt strange after all the noise from the creatures they’d encountered. They all stood breathing heavily for a moment and then Fenris moved quickly to the now open chamber. A roar of frustration and a series of vehement Tevinter curses followed.

"Denarius must have escaped while we were fighting." said Hawke looking at the open door, wondering if she should follow.

“Andraste’s tits.” Said Carver looking at the Horror which seemed to be dissolving into an oozy mess. “That was not normal. That was dark magic!”

“What from a Tevinter Magister? You think?” said Hawke turning her head to look at him.

“I just didn’t think it would feel like that.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What, dark?”

“You know what I mean. It was just…” his voice trailed off.

“Ooh. Is wittle Carver scared?" she teased. "You want me to check under your bed tonight when we get home?”

He scowled at her. “Yeah, you do that. Get the laundry while you’re at it.”

She just laughed. “Come on. Let’s check on Fenris.”

They found him standing in the middle of the empty room. “Gone." Fenris said bleakly. He seemed to pull himself together. "I assume Denarius has left valuables. Take what you wish." He pushed past them and left the room.

Varric was already opening chests and desk drawers.

Carver looked around at the reeking corpses and suddenly felt ill. “I’m gonna get some air.”

Anabel was half in half out of an open crate. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

He went down the stairs and outside, and breathed in the clean night air. 

“I must thank you for your help.”

He jumped and turned seeing the elf standing there. “Maker, you startled me.”

Fenris inclined his head slightly. “I apologize.”

They stood there in awkward silence. Where was Anabel with her non-stop chattering when you needed her? “So... this master of yours wants your markings back? Skin and all?”

Fenris didn’t look at him. “So his hunters told me. Unwillingly.” 

“Why not cover them up? Wouldn't that make you harder to find? 

“Let them come.” Fenris said harshly. “I am not one to hide.”

Right. Carver thought. Definitely something off. “Still, if it were me…”

Fenris cut him off. “It's not.”

Anabel came laughing through the door with Varric next to her carrying a small sack filled to overflowing. “Carver, look what I found.” She handed him an elaborately bound book.

He took it and looked at the cover “ _Dreamwalking: Rituals for Understanding the Fade._ ” he read. He looked up at her with a grin. “No. Is it the same?” he eagerly flipped it open.

She seemed equally excited “Almost exactly. The same pictures and everything.” 

He laughed as he came to one particularly picture. “Remember this one? You slept with a candle lit for a month.”

She punched his arm. “It’s a sloth demon! It was creepy.” She glanced over at Varric and Fenris. “Our father had this book when we were growing up. He used to use it to prepare himself when he needed to go into the Fade. Carver and I used to steal it to look at the pictures and completely freak ourselves out.” 

Fenris had gone tense. “You are the children of a mage?” His fists clenched. 

Anabel went still and her head lifted to look him steadily in the eye. “Yes. And the sister of one.”

Fenris began to pace back and forth. “It never ends. I escaped a land of dark magic only to have it follow me. It is a plague burned into my flesh. And now to find myself in the company of a mage’s family.”

“They’re both dead if that helps.” She said coldly. “And they were both good people. Da was a healer. He saved people, usually at risk to his own safety and freedom. And Bethany wouldn’t have harmed a fly.”

He looked embarrassed at least. “I know magic has it’s uses. But even the best mage can give into temptation. I have seen the evil mages can do.”

“And I’ve seen the good.” She said simply. “We’re all capable of good or evil, Fenris.”

“But most of us cannot wield the power to destroy a city!” He said. “I apologize. I don’t wish to appear ungrateful.” He stood awkwardly for a minute apparently regretting his outburst. “I did not find Denarius, but I owe you a debt. He handed her a pouch of coins and hesitated. “I offer you my sword, if you ever have need of it. If you need me you can find me here.” 

“Here?” Hawke looked at the dilapidated mansion. “What about Denarius?”

Fenris scowled. “If he wishes to reclaim his mansion, let him come.” And he retreated back inside.

They stared at the door.

“Poor man.” Said Hawke.

“Poor psychopath.” Said Carver.

“He’s had a horrible life Carver. I think we can excuse some crankiness.” She chewed at her lip. “He shouldn’t be alone.” She turned to Carver. “I’m going to keep him company. Go on home.”

Varric raised his eyebrow. “You sure that’s smart, Hawke?”

She thought about it. “No. But I think it’s necessary.” She handed Carver the book.

Varric looked at her for a moment. “Fair enough. Come on Junior.” He said as Carver opened his mouth to protest. “I’ll walk you home.”

“Let’s meet for lunch at the Hanged Man and then go see that Warden.” She called after them as they left. Varric raised a hand in acknowledgment.

She pushed open the door to the mansion. “Fenris?” She wandered into the main hall. “Fenris? It’s me, Hawke.” 

He appeared at the top of the stairs, frowning at her. “Did you forget something?” he said tersely.

She looked up at him. He really needed to relax. “I was thinking that a place like this probably has a wine cellar. Want to open a bottle?”

 

It was just getting light when Carver heard the door open and then a crash. He slid out of bed and went into the main room.

Anabel looked blearily up at him from where she sat sprawled on the floor in front of the door, her feet tangled up in the rug. “You know, that elf can really drink.”


	9. A Favor for a Favor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke deals with the aftereffects of a night of drinking, while venturing into Darktown to find the Grey Warden.

Carver cursed as he stepped into something particularly foul. “Do we really have to walk the whole length of Darktown to find this Grey Warden?”

“Sorry, Junior.” Said Varric. “According to what Lirene said his clinic’s somewhere under Hightown. The people there tend to keep the entrances to the undercity well locked and concealed.” 

“Boy seems to like it.” Commented Hawke, watching the mabari explore. Sweet Andraste, her head hurt. She was never drinking again. At least not wine. 

Carver grinned at the dog who was nosing into every pile he could find. “He’s never had so many things to smell. We should take him out more. I don’t think he’s been very happy cooped up in Gamlen’s all day.” 

The dog bounded back to them and Carver scratched his head.

“We’ll take him with us now. Meeran doesn’t have any say about that anymore.” Boy barked in approval at this plan and Hawke winced. She kept telling herself the hangover was worth it. She and Fenris had talked for hours. He told her… well not much about himself, beyond that initial story that had ended with him hurling the wine bottle against the wall, but about Tevinter and Seheron, and the other places he had traveled before ending up in Kirkwall. What the cities looked like and felt like. And he seemed genuinely interested in her stories about growing up with an apostate, about moving from town to town. About Ostagar. About the Red Iron. She stopped. Had she actually told him about what happened with Meeran? Oh, Maker. She had. No wonder he'd insisted on walking her back to Gamlen’s. She realized that Varric and Carver had gotten ahead of her and she moved to catch them, wincing with each step at the jolt of pain in her head. They’d wandered into a market of sorts. Mostly Fereldan refugees selling their belongings, desperate to get money for food. 

They could have ended up here if Gamlen hadn’t offered them a place. They still might, if they didn’t start making coin soon. She shuddered at the thought. No light, and the smell and the dirt, and the oppressive atmosphere of defeat. People didn’t live here. They gave up. 

“Hawke.” said someone quietly from the shadows. 

She looked over, wondering who knew her down here. “Tomwise?” She walked over to the elf. 

He nodded in greeting. “I haven’t seen you since that job for the Red Iron.”

“It’s been a while.” She agreed. “You’re well?”

He didn’t answer the question, just looked carefully at her. “I heard Meeran’s not happy with you.” 

She couldn't help a wry smile. Tomwise didn’t talk much and when he did he never wasted words. “You could say that. Though he seems to be relenting somewhat lately.” 

He frowned slightly and hesitated just a moment before saying. “Watch your back Hawke. Meeran. He doesn’t forget. And if he wants something he gets it.” 

Her face fell at his words and she glanced over her shoulder at Carver and Varric, who were happily bickering together. “Have you heard something?” she asked in a softer voice. 

“Just. Be careful. Don’t drop your guard. And don’t trust him.” Carver and Varric walked over and Tomwise was suddenly all business again. “Say, if you’re in the market for some poisons just bring me the ingredients, I’ll make them up for you. And here.” He pressed several vials into her hands. “Since we’re old friends.”

They walked away, Hawke deep in thought, chewing on her lower lip. She trusted Tomwise. He watched. He noticed. If he said Meeran wasn’t through with her…

Varric had watched the emotions play over her face. “Generous of Tomwise to give you those poisons. I didn’t think he ever gave away his goods.”

“Hmm? Oh. Yes. Well, we’ve worked together.” 

Varric frowned, certain he was missing information. She was tense and uneasy in a way he hadn’t seen before. He’d have to do some digging. 

They walked in silence until they saw the lit lantern. Hawke pushed open the door . The room was poorly lit and they could see a man at the far end healing a young boy, suffused in a soft blue light. The sight was so familiar to Anabel, brought up such vivid memories of her father, that she felt her throat grow tight with unshed tears. They stayed back until he had finished healing the boy, watching as he all but staggered with exhaustion when he was done, and then moved closer. Before they reached him, he literally crackled with some kind of magic she couldn’t remember ever seeing before, and whirled around to face them, staff in hand.

“I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation. Why do you threaten it?” His voice had a strange sort of echo. 

Startled by the change from gentle healer to she didn’t quite know what, she gaped, tongue-tied. 

“What do you want?” The echo seemed to resonate more this time. It went right through her head, which was feeling fragile at best. Her stomach suddenly roiled unpleasantly. Please don’t let me throw up, she thought.

“I want to know about the Deep Roads.” She managed to blurt out. 

He relaxed his stance slightly, frowning in confusion when he saw who Justice had registered as a threat. The girl. Not the warrior, or the dwarf with his elaborate crossbow, or even the mabari hound that had come to her side and was growling softly, his hackles raised. It was this girl that had Justice uneasy. Why? She was barely more than a child. 

She put a soothing hand on the mabari’s head. “Easy, Boy. Go to Carver.” The dog snorted slightly as if disapproving but trotted obediently to the side of the now scowling warrior, and sat down.

He was younger than she had thought he would be and handsome, though woefully undernourished, and in dire need of both a bath and a laundress. Hard to come by in Darktown, no doubt. He looked exhausted, but so had Da after a particularly intense healing session. 

She wondered if knew a cure for hangovers. 

She couldn’t believe, with everything at stake, that she’d just thought that.

Anders’ head was pounding. He’d overextended himself healing all morning, and then healing the crushed leg of that boy had drained him even more and forced him to use up too much of his precious lyrium stores. He tried to focus as Justice repeated his warnings: unsafe, distraction, danger. Justice had never been this incoherent before. Maybe it was just his exhaustion.

“Did the Wardens send you to bring me back?" he demanded. "I’m not going. Those bastards made me get rid of my cat.” An image of the orange tabby came to mind, curled up sleeping on his desk next to him as he worked in his room at Vigil’s Keep. He’d loved that cat. “Poor Sir Pounce-a-Lot. He hated the Deep Roads.” He blinked, trying to bring himself back to the present. 

The girl was looking at him as if he were mad. He noticed her pallor, and that her eyes were slightly bloodshot. Had she just come for healing then? 

Hawke stared at him. “You had a cat named Sir Pounce-a-Lot in the Deep Roads?” she repeated just to be sure she had heard that right. Was he lyrium-mad? Her father had mentioned that could happen to mages, particularly healers, who had to replenish their mana more frequently. Was he just crazy? He certainly seemed nothing like the Wardens that she and Carver had encountered at Ostagar.

“He was a gift.” The man said impatiently, as if that somehow explained it all. He seemed to lose himself in memories again. “A noble beast.” A small dreamy smile came to his face. “Almost got ripped in half by a genlock once. He swatted the bugger on the nose. Drew blood even.” He scowled suddenly. “The blighted Wardens said he made me too soft. Had to give him to a friend in Amaranthine.” Maker, he needed to stop babbling like this. He forced himself to try and focus. He caught the look the girl exchanged with the large man. Was it a signal to take him? 

“You came to Kirkwall just to escape the Wardens?” Hawke frowned. It didn’t make any sense. And she didn’t think it was just the pounding in her head keeping her from thinking straight. Something more was going on here. She could feel it.

A look of irritation crossed his face. “You say that like it’s a small thing. Yes, I came because there’s no Warden outpost, no darkspawn and a host of refugees to blend in with. Not that it’s any of your business.” Why was he even explaining himself to her? He turned away from her.

She really hated rude people. “How’d you manage to leave the Wardens? I didn’t think they were the kind of group that let you walk out just because you got tired of the work.” 

Carver and Varric both looked at her in surprise. 

Okay, she was being a bitch, she knew, but the encounters with Worthy and Elegant, and now Tomwise confirmed to her the desperation of their situation. Those three never gave anything away for free. The fact they had, and the pity in their eyes when they’d done so had told her that Meeran hadn’t forgotten or forgiven what had happened in the bath in spite of his overtures of friendship. They needed the safety of coin, of status if they wanted to be safe. This warden was the only lead on the Deep Roads and he didn’t seem in the least inclined to help them. 

He was looking at her with contempt. “Apparently you thought wrong. Get out.” He turned away from them, starting to clean up his supplies.

Oh no you don’t, she thought. She grabbed his arm. “I need to know how to get into the Deep Roads. You can tell us willingly or…” 

He turned to face and she suddenly realized how tall he was, not as tall as Carver, but tall enough to tower over her. She took an involuntary step back considering the distinct possibility that she might have crossed a line. 

“Don’t you threaten me, little girl.” He snarled.

Her mouth dropped open and she looked suddenly outraged. “Little girl?” she squeaked. Really? At almost twenty-one years of age she was still being mistaken for a child?

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “You can’t even begin to imagine what I’ve come through to get here. I am a Grey Warden and a mage and I have seen things, done things, you couldn’t even begin to imagine.” His eyes flickered over her contemptuously. “And if you think I’m going to let some little ragamuffin come in here and bully me, you are sadly mistaken. So run back home to mother, and leave me in peace.” Peace. As if that were even possible anymore.

They glared at each other for a moment, and then abruptly she turned her head to look at the dwarf. “Ragamuffin?” she asked him.

The dwarf’s eyes flickered over her mismatched armor, blades and the leather helmet that was just a little too big. “Eh.” Varric was forced to admit. He regretted the words as soon as he saw the small flicker of hurt in her eyes. 

She was silent for a moment before she turned back to Anders. “Well apparently you have me there. So where do we go from here?” 

The about face was so sudden that he just stared blankly at her. “What?”

She sighed. “I’ve got all sorts of crap I’m dealing with, I’ve had a lousy morning, I’m in a shitty mood. And I’ve got a really, really bad hangover. Really bad. My eyelashes actually hurt. I may have taken some of it out on you. Sorry. Let’s try this again.” She held out her hand. “My name’s Hawke. This is my brother, Carver, and our partner Varric Tethras.” The hound gave a bark and she winced. “And that’s Boy.” Boy gave a small snort of satisfaction and lay down by Carver. 

Anabel turned her attention back to Anders. “We’re planning an expedition into the Deep Roads. We could use anything you could give us.” 

He made no move to respond, or take her hand. She dropped it to her side.

“Anything.” She repeated. “Maps, advice, extra healing potions.” 

No change in the wary expression on his face. 

“Darkspawn jokes.” She added.

He was looking at her sternly, but at that his mouth twitched slightly as if he were trying not to smile. “Darkspawn jokes?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

She blinked her eyes at him, keeping a perfectly straight face. “From what I hear things can get pretty grim down there. A well timed darkspawn joke could make all the difference between success and failure.” 

He almost smiled, and then quickly frowned again. “If I never see the Deep Roads again I will die a happy man. Trust me, you don’t want to go there.”

“Please. I’ll do anything.” She said in despair. She chewed on her lower lip, and his eye was caught by the movement. Her mouth, which had looked pouty and childish before, looked something else now.

“Anything?” his eyebrow arched, his eyes flickering over her in her shapless armor. He looked at her hands. Small, but not a child’s hands. He frowned. How old was she? 

She blushed realizing how her words could be misconstrued. “Well, let’s be clear: I don’t do anything involving animals or children.” What? She couldn’t believe she’d just said that to a total stranger. She heard Carver's muttered "Maker tits, Anabel" from behind her. She felt cheeks turn even more red. She should really not be allowed to speak to people when she was hungover. 

Anders couldn’t help admiring her. She reminded him of a particularly feisty kitten. She was obviously desperate. Why else would she be coming to him for help. But in spite of his rebuffs she wasn’t backing down.

And then there were the jokes. Even hungover as she was. 

He’d always had a soft spot for a smartass, and he had a feeling Hawke was as much of a smartass as he had once been. Justice’s warnings flashed again, making no more sense now then before.

“What if I asked for the Knight Commander’s head on a plate?” Strangely she didn’t seem horrified by the request.

“Is that what you ask?” she said carefully.

“Great.” Said her brother. “I thought Templars were the one thing we didn’t have to worry about anymore.”

The girl flashed him a smile. “Come now, brother. We wouldn’t be Hawkes if we weren’t antagonizing the Templars somehow.” 

Anders couldn’t figure her out. But in his own way he needed help as badly as she seemed to. “All right. A favor for a favor.” He leaned against his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “As it happens, I do have a set of maps. They show all the known Deep Roads entrances around Kirkwall. I also have a friend, a mage in the circle. I came to Kirkwall to find him, to get him out.”

She her brother exchanged a quick look. “You want to make your friend an apostate?” she asked.

He scowled. “That’s such a weighted term. It goes against no will of the Maker for mages to live as free as other men.” 

“True enough. And locking mages up certainly isn’t the way to prevent the rise of another Imperium.” She said almost casually.

He just stared at her. 

“What?” she asked.

He was frowning. “That’s just not the response I usually get.”

She grinned, flashing a dimple. “Learned at my father’s knee.”

“Your father?”

“Malcolm Hawke. Father, husband, sometime farmer. And wanted apostate.”

He stared. “Your father was a mage?” 

“A spirit healer. He trained at Kinloch Hold. He was transferred to the Kirkwall circle and he met our mother here. They fell in love, and ran away together.”

A myriad of emotions passed over his face. “What happened to him?” 

“He passed away a few years ago. A wasting sickness he couldn’t cure.”

“They never caught him, though?” he sounded so hopeful.

She smiled at him. “Never.” she said with pride.

So it was actually possible, thought Anders. 

Anabel watched his face, wondering what he was thinking. “Tell me about your friend. Why’s it so important to get him out now?” 

Anders frowned again and began pacing back and forth. “His name’s Karl Thekla. He was transferred to Kirkwall like your father. But things are getting worse every day here. Mages are being denied their rights. Being locked in their cells. Even those who have passed their harrowing are being made tranquil simply for disagreeing with the Templars. Help me get him safely out and my maps are yours.”

“It’s against Chantry law for a harrowed mage to be made Tranquil.” She said with a frown.

“Since when have the Templars cared about following the laws.” He thought of all the mages who never had the chance to be married and have children, have a family. Standing in front of him was the proof it could be done. But that wasn’t enough for the Chantry. If they’d had their way Hawke’s family would have been torn apart or better yet never existed.

He sounded angry and bitter, but she could sense the jagged pain beneath it. She thought of some of the stories their father had told about things that went on in some Circles. 

She stepped closer to him putting her hand on his arm. He looked down at it in surprise. How long since someone had touched him. He looked at her face again.

Her eyes were filled with sympathy and such kind understanding that emotion suddenly clawed at his heart. He had spent the last six months shutting himself off from people, from feeling, from anything that could distract him from his goal and one sympathetic look from her threatened to undo all of that. _Distraction_ , Justice mumbled in the back of his head.

The small hand squeezed his arm. “I would help any mage in such circumstances, maps or no. We’ll get him out.” she said simply. “Where do we need to go?”

She had beautiful eyes, he noticed. Unusual. 

“Do you know a way into the Gallows?“ she asked.

“What?” he said, distracted from his contemplation of her eyes.

“Into the Gallows. To rescue your friend. Isn’t that where he is? I’m assuming walking in through the gates is a last resort.” She frowned thinking about the layout of the Gallows courtyard. “It could be done though.” She pictured the number of Templars usually stationed there. “I think it could be done.” She amended.

Anders was staring at her as if she were mad. “You really have no sense of self-preservation at all, do you?” 

She grinned up at him, that dimple flashing again at the corner of her mouth. “You’re not the first to tell me that, actually.” She said, as if it could somehow be construed as a compliment. “So, the Gallows. You have an alternative to the front door approach?”

“I’m hoping it won’t come to that. I sent Karl a note telling him to meet me in the Chantry. Maker willing he’ll be there alone and we will all leave free men. But if there are Templars there, I swear I’ll free him from them.” 

“Of course we will.” As if she were comforting him. Justice rumbled again. 

He spoke brusquely to cover his confusion. “Meet me at the Chantry doors just after midnight. Help me with this and you’ll have my maps.” He walked into a back room.

“Well he was just a ray of sunshine, wasn’t he?” said Carver as they made their way out of the clinic. He looked down at his sister. “Are we really going to do this?”

“We’ve known since we got here that things are awful here for mages. Wouldn’t you help if it were Da or Bethany?” she said looking up at him. He didn’t need to answer. He would help, but he wasn’t happy about it. She rubbed her forehead gently. She really needed to find some elf root powder. 

As they got to the top of the stairs outside the clinic she heard Anders call her name. She turned to see him standing at the door. He tossed something to her.

She caught it one-handed and looked down. A healing potion. She looked up him in surprise.

“For the hangover.” He said and smiled. Maker. His whole face changed when he smiled. 

She smiled tentatively back. “Thanks. I’ll see you tonight?”

“I’ll see you tonight.” He turned and walked back into his clinic.

Carver was scowling. “Come on.” He grumbled. “We don’t want to keep Aveline waiting now that she’s so important, working for the guard.”

The three of them wandered up through Lowtown and into the Hightown market on their way to the Keep. Carver insisted on stopping and looking at blades, though he knew they couldn’t afford anything new. Tired of hearing about the merits of dragon bone hilts versus ivory, she wandered over to the dressmaker’s stand. Anders' potion had worked wonders. She looked at the display, admiring various trims and lace and ribbons, some embroidered, some plain. Her hands lingered a wide satin ribbon in a rich scarlet color. She didn’t notice Varric’s carefully watching her. A wistful expression came over her face. When she was little she used to envy the other girls their curls, and ribbons, and brightly colored, frilly dresses. Not only was there never money for such things, but the first lesson of life on the run was never call attention to yourself. Malcolm had been adamant about nondescript trousers and loose shirts in drab, forgettable browns and black, and always a cap on her head covering her bright curls. He had wanted to cut her hair short at one point when she was about thirteen, but Leandra had made such a fuss at the idea of cutting off “Anabel’s one beauty” that he had relented. 

Carver blundered over. “Maker, what are you doing wasting time on this sort of thing. You gonna go all girly on me?” He laughed at the ridiculousness of the notion.

“No. I was just…” One more caress of the ribbon. What would it be like to have pretty things? With a small sigh she turned away from the stand. “Never mind. Let’s go.” She said. 

They walked up the stairs out of the market, only noticing then that Varric wasn’t with them. 

“Wonderful. Now we have to wait around for the dwarf.” Carver wandered off to flirt with Brennan who was stationed at the base of the stairs. 

Hawke saw Varric approach, carrying a brightly wrapped package. He handed it to her. “For you, Milady.” 

“For me?” Hawke looks so startled that he realized presents were a rare thing indeed. She fumbled with the string holding the wrapper in place and opened it to find a length of red ribbon. Her red ribbon. She looked up at him in surprise. How had he known? 

“Every girl should have something pretty.” He explained.

She nodded, suddenly incapable of speech. He took the ribbon from her hands, going a few steps above her. He pulled her cap off, his eyes widening at the sheer quantity and the color of the hair that tumbled down her back. How had she hidden all that under one cap? He gathered the curls together as best he could, tying them at the base of her neck with the ribbon. The scarlet should have clashed with the orange of her hair but it didn’t, instead picking up the darkest auburn shades. She turned a smiling face to him a few curls blowing free. 

Ancestors, he thought. That I had not expected. 

Without her hair hidden, and without that ridiculous cap hiding a third of her face suddenly she was all delicate cheekbones and ridiculously large blue green eyes and full red lips, surrounded by curls of every shade of red you could imagine. “Very nice.” He said with a smile. Ideas for at least ten different stories crowded into his head. He tucked her leather cap into his pocket, intending to dispose of it at the earliest opportunity. 

To his surprise she flung her arms around him. “Thank you Varric.” She whispered in his ear. Thank you, she thought. For understanding, for realizing, for seeing. “Just. Thank you.” 

He patted her back awkwardly. “Anytime Hawke. Anytime.”

"Oy. Hands of my sister, dwarf." 

Anabel, straightened up, laughing, and wiping quickly at a tear that threatened to fall. Silly, she thought. "I'll hug who I want, little brother. Look." She turned around to show him the ribbon. 

He frowned at the sight of her hair. It was strange to see it, but he realized it really didn't need to be covered any longer, did it. They didn't have to hide anymore. He looked at her smiling face. "I suppose it'll do." He said warily.

She rolled her eyes. "You're such a charmer. Come on. Aveline's waiting." She ran lightly up the stairs, taking them two at a time, humming to herself, her natural optimism firmly back in place.


	10. To Trap an Apostate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and her friends help Anders try to free Karl. At the same time a trap is being laid for them in the Chantry.

She and Carver walked into the Hanged Man arguing.

“I still think we should ask Aveline to come along.” Insisted Carver. 

Anabel looked around carefully making sure no one was listening. “I’d like to see her face when we explain we’re breaking into the Chantry to free a mage from the Circle and we want her to help.” She said softly enough that she wouldn't be overheard.

“I bet she’d do it though.” Said Carver.

Hawke sighed. “She probably would. But she’d give me that look, that _I expected better of you but I’m coming along to save your ass_ look.”

Carver knew exactly which look she was talking about. “Yeah. What about that elf?”

She just looked at him. “Ask someone who’s been horribly abused by mages his whole life to come along and free one?”

She was right. She was always right. It was bloody annoying.

Hawke spotted Varric over by the bar talking to that pirate. “There’s Varric. Come on.” She made her way over.

Isabela glanced up, did a double take, and screamed out “Hawke! Your hair.”

Hawke’s hand automatically went to her head. She felt like people had been looking at her strangely all day. “It’s just hair Isabela.”

“Sweetness, that is not just hair. Look at it!” Before Hawke could stop her she’d reached and yanked the ribbon out and was running her fingers through it. “If I could bottle this I’d make a fortune. Why on Thedas would you cover this up?”

Hawke grabbed the ribbon from her hand and tied her hair back again. “I’ve always covered it up.”

“Why?”

“We were an apostate family, Isabela, We weren’t supposed to be noticed. Da always made me cover it up. He wanted to cut it off but Mother wouldn’t let him.”

“Good for Mum,” murmured Isabela. “It would be a crime to cut this.” Her eyes narrowed suddenly. “Is that why you dress that way?”

Hawke looked confused. “What way?”

“Hawke you’re a beautiful woman but you dress like a twelve year old boy.” Varric snorted into his ale. “A twelve year old boy with no fashion sense.”

“Thanks, Bela. Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?” Hawke muttered. Were her clothes really that bad?

“Oh, kitten, don’t be like that. It would take more than a bad hat and poorly fitting armor to disguise your charms. That mouth alone…”

“What’s wrong with my mouth?” Hawke asked raising a hand to it.

“Nothing sweet thing. It’s just the sexiest thing this side of Seheron. Makes you think of all sorts of things.”

“Can we not talk about my sister’s mouth?” complained Carver, sitting down with his ale in hand and passing Anabel hers. What was wrong with people in this town? They’d been staring at her all day. He’d seen plenty of other redheads in Kirkwall. It couldn’t be that.

Isabela was undeterred. “Come on Hawke. Tell me your lovers haven’t had special requests of that mouth.”

Hawke opened her mouth, shut it quickly, and blushed unable to meet Isabela’s eyes.

“No!” shouted Isabela. “You’re not!”

“Not what?” asked Carver looking from one to another.

“A virgin! She’s a virgin.”

“Isabela!” Hawke hissed. She looked around. Carver looked like he wished he were a thousand miles away. Varric looked strangely delighted. She pointed at him. “If this turns up in one of your stories I will stab you.” 

“Please, Hawke. Virgins, in my stories?” She looked at him suspiciously but was distracted by Isabela.

“You’ve done other things though, right?” pleaded Isabela.

Hawke didn’t say anything just took a sip of her ale, her cheeks flaming. 

“You’ve been kissed at least. Tell me you’ve been kissed.” Isabela sounded almost panicked.

Hawke tried to summon proper outrage. “Of course I’ve been kissed.”

Something in her tone made Isabela pause. “When?” she demanded.

Hawke sighed. “Alfie Barlin. Behind his father’s shop. I was sixteen.”

Carver stared. “You kissed Alfie Barlin?”

“He kissed me.”

“Alfie Barlin?” Carver repeated. Hawke just glared at him.

“Was it at least a good kiss?” asked Isabela.

“It wasn’t anything. He sort of mashed his mouth down. It was slobbery. And then he grabbed my boob.”

“Alfie Barlin grabbed your boob.” He thought Anabel had never done anything like that.

Varric laughed. “I don’t imagine that went over well.”

“I broke his nose.” She said with some satisfaction.

“That was you?” said Carver. “He said his donkey kicked him.”

“And you believed him?” said Hawke scornfully.

“Good for you kitten." said Isabela. "Poor kissing should be punished.” She looked at her disbelievingly. “You really haven’t been kissed in two years?

“Four years.” Hawke automatically corrected.

“Excuse me?” said Isabela staring.

Hawke sighed. For someone who was supposed make her living being stealthy and sneaky she was remarkably bad at knowing when to keep her mouth shut. “I’m twenty. So four years.”

“You’re twenty? You’re twenty and a virgin? That is so wrong.” She turned to Carver, smacking him on the arm. “And you, all those times I’ve seen you in the Blooming Rose. How come you never brought your sister along?”

To Anabel’s delight Carver turned brick red and glared at Isabela.

“Ooh Carver, what would Mother say?” she said grinning.

He ignored her. “What kind of brother takes his sister to a brothel?” he demanded of Isabela.

“The best kind.” Answered Isabela firmly. She turned back to Hawke. “I’m taking you shopping tomorrow, kitten.”

Hawke looked alarmed. “I can’t Bela. We’re saving for the expedition.”

“Bullshit. You can’t go into the Deep Roads with crap armor. The stuff you have on would fall apart if the darkspawn looked at you wrong.” She turned to Varric. “You. Give me some coin. I’m buying your partner some proper armor.” 

Varric pulled out a few coins, deliberately handing them to Hawke, not to the pirate. 

Hawke opened her mouth to protest. “She’s right Hawke,” he said. “You need it.” 

Hawke closed her mouth mutinously. She hated shopping with a passion. She would get the pirate for this. Her eyes lit suddenly. “Isabela. Do you have plans for later tonight?”

 

Sister Petrice made her way through the darkened Chantry. It had just been a matter of some creative fiddling with the work assignments to ensure that she was the sister on night duty tonight. She carefully unlocked and opened the side door of the Chantry. Ser Varnell and his Templars were there along with the bait: a grey bearded tranquil mage. 

Her eyes inspected him carefully, pausing at the starburst brand on his forehead. She’d always been intrigued by the Tranquil. Did they really feel nothing? Would they really do anything one asked of them? The idea had…possibilities.

“Sister.” Said Varnell, his eyes running over her. She marked the appreciation she saw there. Something she could use to her advantage. She’d been looking for a protector, a bodyguard of sorts, to keep her safe as she carried out her work. Varnell might do very well.

“Ser Varnell.” She said, letting him see his admiration reflected in her own eyes. And indeed he cut a fine figure in his Templar armor. 

She would have joined the Templars herself if she’d had any skill with a weapon. But her life in the Chantry was coming along exactly as planned. She had worked her way from village chantry to Tantervale, and now Kirkwall, the seat of power in the Free Marches. Elthina was old, but would last a few more years. If Petrice became a Mother in two or three years, she would be in the perfect position to be considered for the Grand Cleric position when the time came, provided she did something of note, something to catch the eye of the powers in Orlais. 

When Varnell had approached her for aid with his plan to catch one those foolish mages who thought they could defy the Chantry and live free of the circle, she had been more than willing to bend some rules. It could be the perfect opportunity for her. She’d long thought the Chantry was too soft on apostates. If the Chantry showed half the zeal of the Templars here in Kirkwall, together they’d soon crush this rebellion. Elthina was too soft, unwilling to take a stand on the matter. She preferred to leave everything in the Maker’s hands. Petrice knew that the Maker helped those who helped themselves.

She stepped aside to let them in. “Come. I think I’ve found the perfect place for you to carry out your plan.” She led the group up the side stairs, showing them the corner where they could leave the Tranquil, the nearby storage room where they could wait, that afforded them a perfect view of whoever came to take the bait, as well as cutting off any escape route down the stairs. 

Varnell listened with admiration. She’d thought of everything. “It’s perfect.” He said.

She lowered her eyes modestly. “I merely found what you asked for.” A lie of course. Varnell would have carried out his ambush in the middle of the nave if she’d done as he asked. “I’ll leave you to the Maker’s work then.” She walked away, giving Ser Varnell an unmistakable invitation as she glanced over her shoulder. She deliberately kept her pace slow, and let her hips sway, smiling to herself as she heard him behind her, ordering his men into the storage room, and then heard his footsteps and the metallic clank of his armor as he followed. She went through the door and continued down the hall pretending she was unaware of his pursuit. Men, she thought scornfully. So simple. So easy to manipulate.

 

Anders stood in the shadows at the top of the Chantry stair, pacing, trying to fight off the vague feeling of unease. Something wasn’t right. He just hoped that the girl, Hawke, and her strange companions would show up. He didn’t hold out much hope for her skills with a weapon, but at least it was more bodies if his suspicions that this was a trap proved correct. The Chantry bells chimed midnight. 

Where was she? 

“Hi.” The voice came from just behind him startling him. He turned to find Hawke standing there. Maker, she’s good, he thought. He had been watching the stairs the whole time and hadn’t noticed her coming up behind him. She moved out of the shadows into the light of one of the torches and signaled to the others waiting at the foot of the steps. The breeze blew a curl against her cheek, and he realized she’d left off the leather helmet she’d been wearing that afternoon. The torchlight reflected off curls which reached almost to her waist, and were bound back by a captivatingly girlish red ribbon. 

A redhead. He thought dumbly.

He’d always had a thing for redheads. 

She turned her head to look back at him. “Were you worried we wouldn’t show?” she asked with a smile in that husky voice. She was older than he’d thought, and now that he could see her face properly he saw she was pretty. No, not just pretty, he admitted. 

Startlingly, heart-stoppingly beautiful.

He stared, feeling something curling open inside him that he’d thought he’d never feel again. 

A beautiful, red-headed, mage-sympathizing smartass. As if she’d been made to order.

_This is not our purpose here. What of Karl? She is a distraction._

He felt a stab of guilt at having so easily forgotten. Justice was right. Friends and lovers are a distraction from their cause. He scowled at her. “Karl’s inside. I haven’t seen any Templars. Are you ready?” 

Lirene hadn’t been kidding when she said he didn’t smile, Hawke thought, as the others joined them. Carver still looked sullen about the whole job. Varric didn’t seem to care one way or another. Isabela hadn’t been her first choice to bring along, but she’d been willing enough in return for a promise of aid with her own problem. She was currently leering at Anders, who seemed completely uninterested. After a brief glance at her, he returned to staring at Hawke, his expression unreadable. He was probably just worried about his friend, Hawke thought.

“I didn’t see anyone else out here. Let’s go find Karl.” she said, moving past him and pushing open the door. 

No sense of self-preservation at all, he thought with exasperation. He caught her arm. “I’ll find Karl and do the talking. You keep behind me and watch for Templars.” And they moved into the dimly lit Chantry.

 

Varnell followed Petrice down the darkened hallway, watching her willowy figure, her gently swaying hips. He wondered if he’d been misreading her signals. “Sister!” he called after her.

She slowed and turned around, a helpful smile on her face. “Was there something else you needed Ser Varnell?” she asked serenely.

He caught up with her. “Sister.” He began. “Petrice. I wanted to thank you for your aid. There aren’t many in the Chantry here with the strength of will to enforce the laws against mages.”

Her lashes fluttered down modestly. “You give me too much praise, Ser Varnell. Anything I can do to aid you, I do more than willingly. You have but to ask it of me.” She looked at him suggestively. 

There was no misunderstanding that. He smiled appreciatively as his eyes ran over her figure. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that. The Chantry is usually unwilling to get directly involved in such matters.” He stepped a little closer to her. 

She stepped back so she was flush against the wall, but smiled up at him invitingly. “The Chantry must stand strong against those who oppose the will of the Maker be they apostates or heretics. Kirkwall is sadly lax in such matters.” 

He leaned in putting one hand on the wall beside her head. “True. The mage underground here is too powerful. But when we catch this particular apostate it’ll be a blow to them that they won’t soon recover from.” He boasted.

She brought her hands up to rest on his chest. One hand trailed up to his neck. “Will he be made tranquil?” 

“No doubt about it. He’s a dangerous one.” He bent his head down.

She tried not to flinch away from the smell of the onions he obviously consumed with his dinner. “I’ve always wondered.” she asked to distract herself. “Is it true they feel nothing?”

He paused a small smirk coming to his mouth. His eyes glittered, guessing what she was really curious about. “It’s true they have no emotions. They still respond to physical stimuli.” 

“And they really obey any order they’re given?” She couldn’t say how much the idea appealed to her. Someone to satisfy her needs and her desires without needing praise and flattery, without having to pretend a response she didn’t feel just to placate an ego.

Varnell smiled knowingly. People might pretend horror at the idea of using a tranquil for personal gratification, but most he met were excited by the idea. Apparently Sister Petrice, in spite of that cool icy exterior was no exception. He’d bet anything she was a wanton one once you got her between the sheets. “They’ll do anything you tell them. Oh they may protest, say they don’t want to, but they’re willing enough if ordered. It’s proven quite a convenience for my fellow Templars and I.” 

He saw her small pink tongue dart out and lick her lips. 

He moved closer, his face only inches from hers now. “Do you like that idea?” he asked watching her carefully. “Being able to order a man to do anything you wish? Have him unable to refuse?” The quick flare of heat in her eyes told him the answer. “This apostate we’re going to capture tonight is supposed to be quite handsome. Tall, well built with fair hair. Perhaps you would be interested in seeing him after the rite has been performed. I could arrange such a thing”

“Would that be permitted?” she asked a little breathlessly. She didn’t even mind when Varnell slipped one of his meaty hands around her waist and pulled her to him.

“Certainly. Though of course some supervision would be required. Even made tranquil he would still be a powerful man. A Templar should be there. To watch.” He bent his head and pressed his mouth to her neck.

She shuddered with desire at the thought of it, She felt Varnell’s hand move from her waist up towards her breast and a small smile curved her lips. Let him think the desire was for him. It served her purpose to have a Templar devoted to her. Once this apostate was made tranquil she could have him touch her, taste her, take her, while making Varnell watch. Perhaps she could convince Varnell to take him afterwards. She’d always been intrigued by the idea of two men together. Her heart beat faster at the idea. “I would learn much from the experience, I’m sure.” 

Varnell’s mouth was travelling up her neck distracting her. He was a nibbler, she thought with irritation. No matter. She would cure him of that habit quickly enough.  


She heard footsteps and quickly pushed him away. He looked momentarily annoyed before he realized someone was coming around the corner. 

Sebastian had been unable to sleep, a common occurrence since the news from Starkhaven had arrived, and had finally given up the attempt and thrown on his priest's robes, heading to the chapel to pray. He frowned as he recognized Sister Petrice standing there with a Templar. Not one he recognized. Odd, but not unheard of. 

“Sister Petrice.” He nodded his head briefly. 

She acknowledged his greeting, inwardly cursing her luck. Of all people to stumble upon them it would have to be Elthina’s pet, she thought in frustration. 

She stood directly in his path. “Excuse me.” He said. “I was going to the chapel.” He made to move past her but stopped when she spoke.

“Brother Sebastian. I haven’t told you how sorry I was to hear about your loss. They are at the Maker’s side.” 

“Thank you, sister.” He said, as he had said to so many in the last few days. Empty words, empty thanks, he thought. 

“Has there been any further news from Starkhaven about who might have committed such a grievous crime?” she asked. 

“No, none.” He started to move forward again. To be stopped again.

“To think that such evil would exist, that people would dare strike against a monarch anointed by the Maker.” 

“Yes.” A sound from the Chantry caught his ear and he turned towards the door puzzled.

“Have you met Ser Varnell?” Petrice asked rather more loudly than she needed to.

He glanced at the Templar, a rather shifty eyed fellow. “I haven’t had the pleasure.” He said. He nodded his head at the Templar. “Ser Varnell.”

“Brother Sebastian. My condolences on the loss of your family. A tragedy.”

“Yes, thank you.” They were both blocking his path now. 

“The Grand Cleric shouldn’t have removed your notice on the Chanter’s Board. These mercenaries deserve punishment.” Said Petrice still speaking too loudly.

“Elthina was right to take it down. The Maker will see them punished.” He saw the barely concealed contempt at his words. “If you’ll excuse me.” Neither budged. If it didn’t smack of paranoia he’d think they were trying to prevent him from going into the Chantry. 

Another noise, louder this time. And this time it wasn’t stopping, and it wasn’t just voices. “Do you hear that?” he asked looking back at the pair. 

He needn’t have asked as they were both staring at the door. 

Petrice looked up first. “I don’t hear anything.” She lied smoothly, but Sebastian saw the Templar’s hand move towards his sword. 

“It sounded like fighting.” He said with a frown. He pushed past them and walked to the door to open it.

“No!” Petrice called out.

He turned to look at her carefully. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t go into the chantry to pray, Sister Petrice?” he asked, looking at her but still listening intently to the sounds from the Chantry. The fighting seemed to have stopped, but he could hear voices and footsteps. 

Petrice didn’t respond, but exchanged an anxious look with Varnell. 

Enough of these games, he thought. He pushed the door open, just in time to see a group running for the main doors. He shouted after them, but they ran out, letting the door close behind them with a loud bang. Thieves? He thought. He looked around. There was a light on upstairs that shouldn’t have been.

Ser Varnell cursed and ran past him and up the side stairs, Petrice close behind. Sebastian quickly followed. They were greeted by a gruesome scene, blood and bodies. Templars.

Sebastian’s mouth moved in automatic prayers for the men butchered here, trying to keep images of his own family slaughtered the same way from his mind. The Templar with Petrice was cursing and shouting, damning all mages to the Void.

Petrice looked white at the sight of the mangled bodies. 

Sebastian looked from the corpses to Varnell to Petrice, his eyes narrowing. 

Petrice caught his look. “Ser Varnell brought the Templars here to pray. Tomorrow they were going after a group of blood mages. They wished to purify themselves with prayer. I saw no harm in letting them in.”

Sebastian turned away from her and looked at the bodies. A room full of slaughtered Templars and her first response was to deny any wrongdoing in letting the Templars in. Oh, she was in this up to her neck, he thought. 

“The blood mages must have learned of their plans.” She added hurriedly. “Don’t you think so Ser Varnell.” She said insistently to the Templar.

He caught the look in her eye. Both their careers were at stake here. “Yes. That must have been it.” He said through gritted teeth. 

“We should rouse the other Templars, and report the crime to the guard.” She said, anxious to get Varnell alone, so they could figure out their story. She should have insisted on knowing more details. If she had planned this, they wouldn’t be in this mess. She all but dragged him down the stairs.

Sebastian crouched down and looked more closely at the bodies. That wasn't the work of blood mages. Few of the bodies showed any signs of damage that could have been caused by magic. Most were stab wounds, or bolts from a crossbow, some of them showed damage from a larger blade. Something in the far corner caught his eye. He walked over. Another body, not a Templar, but a tranquil mage, stabbed just once, through the heart. No signs of battle on him at all, just one precise wound that would have ended his life immediately and almost painlessly. Unlike the Templars who had been left lying where they fell, this poor soul had been carefully laid out. Not killed in anger, he thought. He frowned.

What had gone on here?


	11. The Next Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke visits Ander's the morning after the attempted rescue in the Chantry before preparing for a trip to Sundermount.

Anders opened the door to the clinic, ready to light the lantern. It was earlier than usual, not that the clinic kept anything like regular hours – hence the need for the lantern. He hadn’t been able to sleep, hadn’t been able to stop reliving the previous night. He might as well open the clinic and distract himself with work.  


Much to his surprise, Hawke was outside the door, sitting cross legged, a basket by her side, Boy lying beside her, his head in her lap. She looked up at him as he stood in the doorway, and smiled.

“Morning.”

He frowned in confusion. “Are you injured?”

“Of course not. Is that the only reason people come to see you? That’s a little sad.” She got to her feet grabbing the basket, and pushed past him into the clinic. She went straight to his desk and began unpacking the basket. “Make yourself useful. Hot water for tea, please.”

She was a pushy little thing, he thought, trying to be outraged, but finding himself amused. “I’m not sure what tavern you think you’ve wandered into, but I don’t actually have any tea here.”

She shoved a tin in his hand. “No excuses. Hot water.” He looked down at it. Tea.

Moments later they were sitting, he at the desk, she on the desk, enjoying tea and fresh rolls with butter and strawberry jam.

“I haven’t had jam in ages.” He commented.

She grinned at him. “I figured as much. Whenever we were on the run it was always the jam that got left behind. It was always the thing I missed.”

“Are you checking up on me?” he asked, expecting her to deny it.

“Of course." she said, taking another bite of her roll.

He couldn't help smiling a little. “Do you always tell the truth?” he asked.

“Don’t be silly. But I only lie when I have to. This didn’t seem like a have to kind of situation.” She looked at him carefully. She hadn’t thought it was possible for him to look more worn out but he did. Her face softened. “How are you, really?”

He opened his mouth to say fine, or to blame it on the Templars, or the Circle, to go on about the rights of mages, but he looked into her eyes, filled with sympathy, and what came out was, “I miss him.”

“Had you talked about the possibility?”

“That one of us would be made tranquil? Before I was harrowed, we’d talked about if I were. I made him promise to…” he stopped speaking for a minute. “I don’t think either of us considered that he ever would be. He was such good man. A good mage. It makes no sense.”

“You did what he wanted. What he asked for. It’s probably not much comfort now.” She stared off in the distance. “Carver doesn’t know this, but our father asked me to do the same for him and Bethany if the need ever arose. People say ‘I can’t imagine how you must feel’, but I actually can imagine it. And I’m so sorry.” She looked back at him. There were tears in her eyes.

He just stared at her. Bit by bit she was peeling back that shell he had wrapped around himself.

She shook herself. “Well that got maudlin awfully quickly.” She reached for another roll. “How’s Justice feeling this morning?”

He scowled. “I told you, he and I are one.”

“Hmm.” She commented.

“What?”

“I don’t know. He seemed pretty distinct from you when you went all glowy and righteous last night. I’m just trying to figure out how it works. I don’t mean to offend either of you.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Well it would be, wouldn’t it? If it were simple everyone would be doing it. For the power, or the skill, for the advantage it gives you. But binding a spirit to you? Or you to a spirit? It’s probably the most complicated thing either of us is likely to encounter.” She said matter-of-factly.

“I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me.” he said defensively.

She looked surprised. “Who said that? Well, other than Carver, but he’s just gotten used to not having to watch out for Templars. But he’s really quite good at it. Watching out for Templars, I mean. He seems to be able to think the way they do. He’d probably make a pretty good one himself, now that I think of it. Of course I can’t think of any circumstance where he’d actually join the Templars, so no worries there.”

She did like to talk. But instead of being grating, it was strangely soothing. He watched as she picked up the spoon resting in the jam jar, and took a spoonful. He opened his mouth to say something about hygiene, and then stopped mesmerized. Her tongue swirled around the spoon licking it clean. He swallowed hard. And then she realized she had jam on her fingers and she proceeded to lick them clean, sliding them into her mouth, pulling them out with a soft pop, using her tongue to reach down to the base of her finger, to get a bit that had fallen there. She seemed totally unaware of any sexual connotations. She glanced over and caught him looking at her.

“What? Did I get some on my face.” Her pink tongue reached out to the corner of her mouth.

“No.” he said quickly. If she did that around the wrong person….What was she even doing in Darktown on her own? “You shouldn’t come down here by yourself.” He said with a frown.

“I’ve got Boy with me. And it’s not the first time.” Completely unconcerned.

“Then you’ve been lucky.” He said sternly.

Her eyebrows arched. “I do have some skills with daggers, you know.”

He thought back to the previous night. More than some. He’d never seen anyone fight like that.

“Anyway, checking up on you wasn’t the only reason I came to see you. I’ve got to go deliver something to the Dalish camp up on Sundermount. I thought you might fancy getting out of the city, and I could use your help.”

_Distraction._

“I’d like that.” He said.

“Good. Let’s meet at noon at the Hanged Man.” She jumped off his desk. “I’m off then. Apparently I’ve got to go shopping for armor with Isabela. Hopefully it’ll include pants. See you later. Come on, Boy.”

“See you later.” He called after her as she left, the mabari bouncing up and down around her.

He cleaned up the crumbs from their breakfast. Whether it was the thought of getting out of Kirkwall for a while, or spending time with Hawke, he felt better. Lighter. Picking up the jam, he couldn’t help a small smile. He’d never be able to think of jam in quite the same way again.

  


He walked into the Hanged Man at the appointed hour and spotted Varric. He was talking with a tall white haired elf who was covered in strange silver white tattoos. Justice stirred, and he braced himself for the reaction; outrage, disapproval, anger. But what came was longing. _He sings_. He looked more carefully and felt that vibration, that almost hum, as he got near. Lyrium? The markings were lyrium. How had that not killed him?

Varric looked over and saw him. “Blondie! Hawke said you were coming along.” No mention of the previous night. He liked Varric. “This is Fenris. He’ll be joining us.”

Fenris looked at him, unsmiling. “Hawke said you were a mage.”

“Did she?” he said, keeping his voice neutral.

“Hawke gathers serpents around her without acknowledging the harm they might do. But I will be watching.”

Was he for real?

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Broody mage-hating bastard. He turned away from him to face Varric. “Hawke’s not here yet?” he asked.

“She should be back soon.” His eyes flickered over Anders. “Why don’t you grab some lunch.” He called out to the frazzled looking barmaid. “Norah. A bowl of stew for my friend, and another round.”

The stew was mediocre at best, but contained actual meat, which was more than he’d had in a while. He quickly finished the bowl. Varric noticed and ordered another from Norah.

“You don’t have to do that.” He protested.

“I’ve heard stories about that Grey Warden appetite. Nice to see they’re true. Is the other thing true also?” he says with a leer.

Anders couldn’t help laughing, as Norah put the bowl down in front of him. Who knew how these stories got around. “What, about the stamina? Or about the insatiable sexual appetite? ” He noticed Fenris looked uncomfortable. Well, that was a plus. “Yes to the first, no to the second.”

“Really?” asked Varric, sounding disappointed. “Would have made for some great stories. No difference at all?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it insatiable. I mean, I’m not going to jump the first woman to walk through that door.” He glanced at the door as he spoke, and his mouth fell open, spoon held in midair.

Hawke was just coming in with Isabela. Her shopping expedition had apparently been successful. The new armor was simple, a forest green leather, so dark it almost looked black, some intricate design tooled into the collar and the cuffs. But on Hawke it looked anything but plain. It hugged every slender curve, showed off her surprisingly long legs, clung to pert breasts and a delightfully round behind. Not to say that it was improper. Compared to Isabela’s outfit it was downright modest, just revealing a figure that he had never even suspected was there. Her cheeks were flushed, her flaming hair lay in a thick fishtail braid over one shoulder. She was laughing with Isabela, that dimple dancing at the corner of her mouth.

“You were saying, Blondie?” commented Varric.

He snapped his mouth closed. Hawke all but danced up to them. She twirled around in front of the table. “Look! Isn’t it beautiful?” She looked at them expectantly.

Varric was the only one to respond immediately with a low wolf whistle. “Very nice Hawke. The darkspawn don’t stand a chance."

She turned to Fenris expectantly. He looked as startled by the change as Anders felt. “It seems quite adequate.” he said awkwardly.

Her mouth fell open in outrage. “Adequate? What are you talking about? It’s the most gorgeous piece of armor I’ve ever seen. I want to make love to this armor.” She turned to Anders who was trying not to laugh at the expression on Fenris’ face at the last part of that statement, while also trying to dismiss the image of Hawke making love to her armor from his brain. “Isn’t this much better, Anders? You’d never have called me a ragamuffin if I’d been wearing this when we’d met.” She ran her hands over her waist with some satisfaction. “I need a drink.” She ran over to the bar, not realizing how many eyes were following her. As they watched, one man moved up behind her, his hand reaching for her bottom.

Fenris and Anders both rose to their feet, to be stopped by Varric’s hands on their arms. “Just watch.” He said with a knowing smile.

The man reached out and pinched. Almost faster than one could see it, she had grabbed the hand, twisted round and flipped the man onto his back and was on top of him, her knees pinning his arms down, one of her blades at his throat.

The man looked up, blinked and croaked, “Blimey. Hawke?” he looked suddenly terrified. “Andraste’s tits, Hawke, I didn’t know it was you.”

She looked disapprovingly down at him. “Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. Shame on you.”

“If I realized it was you I wouldn’t have…”

She raised a delicate brow. “You mean if I were simply a defenseless young woman you would have?”

“Shit, that’s not what I mean. It was just. I couldn’t help it.” He looked desperately up at her. “It’s a nice ass, Hawke.” he pleaded.

She blushed, but a little smile curved her mouth. “Well. Since I’m in such a good mood, I won’t slice anything off. However I will let you buy me and my friends a round of drinks.” She sprang up, pulling Tommy to his feet and then reached up to pat his cheek gently, smirking when he flinched. She flounced back to the table and sat down with a big smile. “I got us free drinks.”

Their drinks arrived, along with Carver, who scowled at Anders before staring at his sister. "What in the Void are you wearing?"

"It's called armor, Brother. It's all the latest rage."

He was frowning. "It looks strange."

"That's because it actually fits her." said Isabela getting up and going over to the bar, since Norah seemed to be ignoring her. You forget to tip just once, she thought.

Varric got up and joined her. “Not bad, Rivaini.” he commented.

She smiled lazily at him, leaning back against the bar. “She's gorgeous and you know it. You owe me some coin by the way.”

He’d suspected as much. Armor that looked like that didn’t come cheap. The extra coin was worth it though. He wouldn’t have to work half as hard to get Hawke’s name out there now.

Isabela was looking over at Hawke. “Her father was a smart man.”

“Why’s that Rivaini?”

“No one would have forgetten her if she’d looked like that.”

And it’s true. “I always thought the phrase “headturning” was ridiculous but that’s what happened all afternoon yesterday when we were walking around. And that was before you got her that armor.” He changed the subject. “You coming with us up Sundermount?

She scoffed. “Me, hiking up a gloomy haunted mountain? Please.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then." he said grabbing his drinks and heading back to the table. "And stay out of my rooms while we're gone.” He added over his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always picture Hawke's original armor in this story as "The Rascal's Scale" armor set, which has to be among the ugliest, least flattering armor you can wear in the game. Check out the picture at the Dragon Age wiki. It's guaranteed to render any Hawke shapeless and unappealing.


	12. Asha'bellanar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill meets Hawke and Asha'bellanar.

Merrill sat on a rock by the path, waiting. She pulled out the shard of glass to look at it again, like she did a dozen times a day. Like the larger mirror it had come from it seemingly reflected nothing. But every so often, out of the corner of her eye, just out of sight, just when she wasn’t looking, she thought she saw something. A glimpse. A flash. And when she looked back, nothing. Just darkness. Not even darkness. Just an absence of reflection. It made the mirror look a little scary, but in just this little piece it looked almost sad. Lost. Missing. She tilted it a little and a brief glimpse of sunlight that had penetrated the clouds that always seemed to hang on Sundermount hit the mirror and it seemed to almost hum briefly. The clouds moved and the sunlight disappeared, and the humming began slowly fading away. So intent was she on this that she didn’t hear the group of people until they were right next to her.

“Oh!” she said startled. “I didn’t hear you.” 

What an odd group. The humans were so large. She hadn’t been around many humans. To her surprise, one of the group was _elvhen_. The realization should have made her feel more at ease, but this particular _elvhen_ was not at all easy. Covered in markings like vallaslin, but over his whole body and made of lyrium. She gave a little shiver when she considered the pain that would have caused him. Pain you could still see in him. She glanced at the humans again. A very tall very big dark one, who had pretty blue green eyes that kept him from being too scary. And the other one golden haired, with brown eyes and, oh, he was a mage too. She’d always been told that the humans locked up their mages. Perhaps it wasn’t true. They were very pretty all of them. The few humans she had seen hadn’t been this pretty. But a little scary. The big dark one looked over his shoulder and she realized there were more. She peeked around him.

A woman. And so bright, so colorful. Laughing merrily. Flame colored hair and blue green eyes. Like the dark haired man, she realized, wondering if they were related. Pink cheeks, and red lips. You wanted to be near her, the way you wanted to lie in the sunlight when it broke through on a dreary day. And she was laughing with…goodness, was that a _durgenlen_? She’d never seen one before. He looked merry as well. She’d thought the children of the stone would be more grim. 

The woman look over at her, and smiled. She was pretty too, and she wasn’t scary at all. She smiled tentatively back. “You must be the ones the Keeper told me about. _Aneth ara_. Oh. I didn’t ask your name. I’m sorry. Unless it’s rude to ask humans their names?” she looked anxious. “I’m Merrill. Which you probably knew already. Am I talking too much? I’m rambling. Sorry.”

The woman just laughed again. So light. “You’ll have to work harder than that if you want to offend me. My name’s Hawke. This is Varric.” She indicated the _durgenlen_. “My brother Carver.” So they were related. It must be nice to have a brother. “Fenris.” The _elvhen_ gave the merest nod of his head. “And this is Anders.” The mage smiled easily enough at her but his gaze went right back to Hawke, she noticed. What a strange name for her, she thought. She didn’t look at all like a hawk. Perhaps humans had different rituals for naming. 

The woman, Hawke, she corrected herself, looked curiously at her. “Do you hear that strange noise?”

She could hear that? She wasn’t a mage. Perhaps she could sense magic. What if she wanted to destroy the mirror, like the others? “I didn’t hear anything.” She said warily.

Hawke frowned a little. “Never mind.” The easy smile was back. “You seem nervous. You don’t need to be.” 

“Dalish mothers frighten their children with stories about you, you know. Not you personally. I’m sure they don’t have any tales about you. Not scary ones, anyway.” She blurted out. The dwarf laughed. She must have said something wrong. “Not that you’re not notable enough to have stories about you. I’ll just be quiet now.” Her voice trailed off. 

Hawke just laughed again, giving Merrill courage. “The Keeper said you came from Ferelden. I spent most of my life there. We only came here because of the Blight. Have you been here long? Do you like it in Kirkwall?”

“Oh, I miss the cold and the dirt. Kirkwall’s not brown enough for me.” 

“Ferelden wasn’t so brown. The dirt and muck gave it character.” Insisted Merrill. 

“Why leave the Dalish for Kirkwall?” Hawke asked suddenly.

Oh. That question just came out from nowhere. Maybe she was like a hawk, suddenly swooping down like that. The Keeper had told her about that? “I have to. Let’s leave it at that.” Her eyes were pleading.

Hawke looked concerned. “I get the feeling you’re in trouble Merrill.” She said in a softer voice. 

Hawke saw everything. Like the Keeper. Another one who thought she couldn’t take care of herself. “It’s not like that. Not exactly.” She saw Hawke’s companions exchange looks. “We should get going. Your task is for Asha’Bellanar. It’s not wise to keep her waiting.”

They started walking. “What do we have to do with the amulet when we get there?” asked Hawke.

“It’s a funeral sort of. Some words and such. It’s getting to the top that will be the hard part. Our hunters haven’t been able to. There are dark things about.” She wondered again if the spirit weren’t responsible for that. She knew she hadn’t released him. She would never do that. But she might have just given him a little more room than he had before, she thought uneasily. 

“So you’ve been expecting me to bring this amulet for a while?”

“Oh the Keeper brought us here to wait for you. I don’t know much more about it than that. I mean, I do know you have Asha'bellanar's amulet and that it must be brought to the mountain top.”

“Have you met her?”

Merrill squeaked at the thought. “No! Our people tell stories of her.” She looked curiously at Hawke, who seemed so unconcerned by the thought of Asha'bellanar. “You’re very lucky you know. Most people who meet her wind up in little pieces hanging from the trees.”

Hawke tried to look suitably impressed but just ended up smiling again. “Well. We’d better get this over with then.” She was so brave, thought Merrill. She listened to her joking with the dwarf.

“You didn’t tell me we were delivering things for witches, Hawke. When’d you meet this witch anyway?”

“Flemeth? She helped us escape from Fereldan. She was a little scary, wasn’t she, Carver?”

Her brother did look nervous. “A little? She was bloody terrifying. And mad. Do we really have to do this?”

“Apparently so. Or we might end up hanging from the trees ourselves.” 

Their conversation was interrupted by shades and then undead who rose from the ground before them. Merrill fought with them and was surprised at how quickly the dark things were vanquished. She lowered her staff to see them all staring at her.

“The Keeper didn’t mention you were a mage.” Said Hawke quietly.

Her heart was pounding but she kept her voice calm. “All keepers know a bit of the old magic. Once all elvhen had the gift. But it was lost, like so much. It’s a keeper’s job to remember. To restore what we can.” That was all she had been doing, and because of it she had to leave.

Hawke was struck by the sudden look of sadness on the little elf’s face. “Well, thanks for pitching in back there.”

Merrill brightened immediately. She was so kind. “Oh. You’re welcome. I didn’t know if I’d be any good at it. Fighting with it I mean.”

“Can’t demons possess Dalish mages?”

She'd swooped again. She was going to have to watch out for that more carefully. “Yes, of course. The clan must deal with it if that happens.”

“And the Templars? Do they know?” 

“Oh yes. But if we move around, and stay out of the cities they usually can't be bothered to follow us.”

“You know it won’t be the same in Kirkwall. There are a lot of Templars there.” Hawke warned.

“I know. But I can’t stay here. And in the city I can hide among the elves. It’ll be safer than being all on my own.” Her eyes pleading. Hawke looked carefully at her and then nodded. Merrill glanced at the other companions. The mage looked approving. Her brother frustrated. The elvhen, Fenris, looked furious though. She lifted her chin higher. She didn’t need his approval any more than she needed the approval of her clan. 

More climbing, a nasty cave full of giant spiders, and eventually they arrived at the top. Hawke looked at the shimmering barrier in the archway. “Anders? Have you ever seen anything like this?”

He looked it over carefully. “I’ve seen similar ones, but not exactly the same. It’s definitely magic, but not one I’m familiar with. I don’t know if I can dispel it.”

“It’s all right.” Said Merrill, glad of the chance to help. “I can do it.”

She took her small knife and sliced open her hand drawing on the power of her blood, building it and then hurling at the barrier. It disappeared in a rush of suddenly hot misty red air. She turned to face them. 

They looked horrified. Fenris had his sword out. 

“That was not normal!” said Carver.

“Blood magic? Foolish, very foolish.” Muttered Fenris, shifting his weight from one foot to another, looking as though he had been expecting it.

“Are you insane?” shouted Anders. “Do you know what you just did? What you called up?”

“Yes, it was blood magic, but I know what I’m doing. The spirit helped us, didn’t it?”

“Call it what it is. You summoned a demon.” To her surprise that was Hawke speaking. She turned to look at her and she suddenly believed that there might be scary stories about her. She looked fierce. Unyielding. And oh, so angry.

“Demons are just spirits, like honor or joy. It’s not their fault they are what they are.” She tried to explain.

“Yes, demons are very helpful. Right until they take your mind away and turn you into a monster.” She turned away for a moment clenching her fists. 

“Well, yes." Merrill said. "But that won’t happen. I know what I’m doing.” 

“You know nothing of spirits.” Said Anders angrily. “Don’t try and spread your ignorance.”

“Oh yes. Ignore the tiger. It’s not its fault it’s going to eat you.” Fenris said at exactly the same time.

The two looked at each other in surprise.

Hawke snickered as she looked at them both. “Well at least we’ve found something the two of you agree on. I’ll remember to bring it up the next time you start up with each other.” She looked uncertainly back at Merrill, as if not quite sure how to deal with her.

Just the way the Keeper looked, thought Merrill. She looked at her sadly. “Come.” She walked through the doorway. 

An ancient burial ground. With more things that didn’t want to remain buried. The last of them finally fell. 

“Is everyone all right?” asked Anders. He looked around. 

“I might need some help, actually. I seem to be bleeding a bit. Fuck, I’m getting blood on my new armor!” Hawke sounded annoyed.

Anders ran over to where she knelt on the ground, her cheek covered in blood. He pulled her to her feet. “Let me see, Hawke. What happened?” He tilted back her head so she was looking up at him. He pulled out a handkerchief, and pressed it to the cut, trying to staunch the blood.

“Fucking arrow.” She said. “I didn’t dodge fast enough.” 

“You’re dodging arrows now?” he asked. He took the cantene Varric offered, and poured some water on the cloth. He gently wiped, cleaning off the blood. 

“I’ve done it before.” She insisted.

“Well you nearly lost an eye this time.” He said grimly.

“That would be bad, right?” He looked sharply at her. She was grinning up at him. She was so brave, Merrill thought again. 

Anders was trying to look stern but couldn’t help smiling back. “In this particular case, with those particular eyes, it would be a tragedy.” Hawke blushed.

Were they a pair then, wondered Merrill. She watched as he put one hand hand on the back of her neck, holding her head still and the other over the cut, and, oh, he was a healer. So lucky for him. She’d never been able to master even the most basic healing spell. When he pulled back his hand there was no wound at all, not even a trace. He kept his hand on her face for a moment, running his thumb over the spot where the injury had been, looking intently at her.

“You done touching my sister now?” Asked Carver. 

Anders quickly dropped his hand and moved away. Her brother doesn’t like Anders, Merrill thought, and wondered why.

Hawke glared at her brother for a moment, and then seemed to remember why they were there. “That’s the altar?” she asked pointing at it.

“Yes, said Merrill They walked up to it. Hawke pulled the amulet out of her pocket. She took a deep breath. “Right. Let’s do this.” She put it down, and stepped back.

Merrill walked up to the altar, hoping she didn’t look as nervous as she felt.

_hahren na melana sahlin_  
 _emma ir abelas_  
 _souver'inan isala hamin_  
 _vhenan him dor'felas_  
 _in uthenera na revas_  


There was a roaring and a blinding light and a rush of power and magic like none of them had ever experienced. Merrill shut her eyes as it swirled around them. When it had stilled a woman stood before them. Ancient. Beautiful. Terrible. And oh, so powerful. 

“A witch.” She heard Fenris hiss. 

“It’s all right Fenris.” She heard Hawke say soothingly. “We know her.”

Asha'bellanar took a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly, before opening them and looking around. “And here we are.” She said, with satisfaction. 

Merrill quickly bowed deeply. “ _Andaran atishan_ Asha'bellanar.” 

The yellow eyes flickered over to her. “One of the People.” She came close. “And do you know who I am beyond that title?”

“Only a little.” She said, not daring to lift her head.

“Then stand. The People bend their knee too quickly.”

She walked over to Hawke, and smiled, a curve of the mouth only. “So refreshing to see someone who keeps their end of a bargain. I half expected my amulet to end up in a merchant’s shop window.

Hawke didn’t flinch or hesitate. “I couldn’t find a buyer. Maybe because it had a witch inside?”

Her companions froze, staring at her. But Asha'bellanar just tilted back her head and laughed loudly. “Oh just a piece. A bit of insurance on my part. A fragment cast adrift from the whole. A bit to cling on to in the storm.”

“A fragment? Are you not real?” asked Hawke.

“You smuggled me here quite nicely. You do not need to understand how or why. Know only that you may have saved my life, as I once saved yours. An even trade I think.”

“You could have told me what it was I carried.” Hawke insisted.

The witch gave a slight shrug. 

Anders was unable to contain himself any longer. “What are you? A spirit? A demon? An abomination? This is no magic I’ve seen before.”

Flemeth’s eyes went to him and she smiled as if in satisfaction at the sight of him. “And you would know of spirits and abominations.” She said in an almost teasing voice.

He went still. “Of course I know. I’m a mage.” He managed to get out.

She gave a mocking nod of her head. “Of course.” 

“We’re going to regret this aren’t we?” said Carver under his breath.

The yellow eyes flashed to him. “Regret is something I know well.” She walked closer to where he stood by his sister. “Take care not to cling to it, to hold it so close that it poisons your soul.” She paused in front of Hawke still speaking, but looking at Hawke, not Carver. “When the time comes for your regrets, remember me.” The yellow eyes looked deep into hers.

For a moment no one breathed and then Flemeth turned slowly away.

“I assume you have plans.” Hawke said, trying to keep her tone careless.

Flemeth looked back, amused. “Destiny awaits us both dear girl.” 

Hawke raised an eyebrow at her. “Hurtled into the chaos I fight and the world will shake before me?” 

Flemeth laughed again. “Oh I do like you. It’s nice to know someone listens when I speak. Indeed. We both have much to do, there’s much that must happen. But before I go, a bit of advice?” She turned and looked out into the distance at the land spread out before her. “We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment. And when it comes…” she turned back to look at Hawke. “when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn if you can fly.”

Hawke looked frustrated. “Cheap advice from a dragon.”

“We all have our obstacles to overcome.” Commented Flemeth wryly.

Merrill suddenly found the witch’s attention on her again. “As for you child, be careful where you step. No path is darker than when your eyes are shut.”

“ _Ma serannas_ Asha'bellanar.” She managed to squeak out, but Flemeth had already turned back to Hawke.

“And now the time has come for me to leave. You have my thanks.” Hawke bent her head slightly. “And my sympathies.” Hawke looked suddenly fearful at the words. She watched as the witch's eyes went to briefly to Carver, and then to Anders, lingering longer, before she turned abruptly away from them all. Another rush of light and wind. They all cowered as the dragon stood briefly before them, except for Hawke, who stood straight, looking at it, unflinching. It stretched out its wings and it was gone, disappearing into the distance.

Merrill ran to the altar watching it fly away. “My. That was exciting, wasn’t it?” Her heart was still racing. Fenris was scowling at her. “Did I say something wrong?”

“I’m not sure exciting begins to cover it.” Said Varric. “I gotta say Hawke. I don’t think even my audience would believe this one.”

“You think that’s the last we’ll see of her?” Carver asked, relieved it was over.

“Wouldn’t that be nice.” Muttered Hawke staring after the dragon. She turned back to them. “Let’s get back to Kirkwall. I suddenly feel the need to consume a great deal of alcohol.”


	13. I'd Break Your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Anders have a heart to heart.

Varric watched Hawke as she finished her second ale and glanced again at the door of the Hanged Man.

“You expecting someone Hawke?” he asked.

“I shouldn’t have just left her there.” She said abruptly with a frown. “It was such a bitchy thing to do. She’s all alone in a strange city, when any city would be strange to her, and we just dumped her in the alienage and left her there.” She’d been so angry about Merrill’s casual use of blood magic. But something about Merrill just didn’t fit with all the warnings and lectures Da had given them about blood magic in general and blood mages in particular. She seemed so sweet. So hopeful. So lost. I should have asked Marethari what actually happened that made her want to leave, she thought. 

“Daisy, you mean?” said Varric. “She did look a little forlorn.”

Hawke smiled at the nickname. “Daisy, huh?” she considered a moment. “It works.” 

“She is a blood mage. She should have been turned over to the Templars.” Said Fenris with a scowl. 

“Yes, well, that’s not going to happen while I’m here.” 

Fenris looked a bit taken aback at the statement. Perhaps he had expected her to argue with him. Was it naïve to think that you could ‘fix’ a blood mage? Probably, but maybe she could keep her from getting into any real trouble. 

She got to her feet. “I’m going to get her. And you’re coming with me.” She said pointing at Fenris.

“What?” He looked startled.

“You wouldn’t let me go down there all by myself, would you? Kirkwall is dangerous. The Alienage even more so. Why I once heard of a rogue who was attacked there by a whole gang of imperial slave hunters and only triumphed through her incredible fighting skills and rapier-like wit.” 

Fenris glared at her. She just smiled sweetly at him. 

“ _Festis bei umo canavarum_.” he muttered under his breath as he got to his feet, and followed her out. Anders knew just enough of the Tevinter language to know what he was saying and he tried to hide his smile by taking another drink. Hawke just ignored Fenris’ scowls and kept up a running stream of conversation as they left the tavern. 

When Anders turned back to the table, Varric was smiling at him in a knowing way.

“What?” He asked. He looked at the other end of the table where Isabela was entertaining herself by teasing Carver mercilessly. 

“Oh nothing.” Said Varric. “Tell me about the Warden Commander. Did you know her? Is she as ruthless as they say? She helped put Bhelen on the throne, so I wouldn’t doubt it.”

“The 'Hero of Fereldan', you mean? No. Nell Cousland's about as kindhearted as they come. But practical when she needs to be. A good leader.” Life in the wardens had only gone to shit after she'd gone back to Court. 

“And is it true her companions included a Crow assassin and an Orlesian bard? That the three of them used to retreat to her tent and indulge in all sorts of perversions? That occasionally the Qunari that was with them would join in?”

Anders couldn’t help smiling. “If you’d ever seen her with King Allistair, you’d know how false those allegations are. And I don’t think the king would appreciate your implications about his Queen. You might even find yourself charged with treason.”

“So a real love story that conquered a Blight?” Varric considered it. “Well, that’s good too. Won’t sell as many copies of course. How’d you end up in the wardens anyway?”

They were still talking about the wardens when Hawke and Fenris returned with Merrill. Carver and Isabela had joined in the conversation, Isabela making some preposterous claim about having taught the Warden Commander everything she knew about dueling, which none of them believed. Introductions were made, more drinks were ordered, and the party got livelier as the evening progressed. 

A few hours later The Hanged Man was in full swing, packed with boisterous people, music coming from the corner. Anders stood at the bar getting the next round of drinks, watching Hawke while he waited. He couldn’t stop looking at her, hadn’t been able to since she’d sauntered into the Hanged Man earlier in the day. Varric was trying to teach Merrill the basics of Diamondback. The others were nominally playing as well, though no one was paying much attention to the game itself. Isabela had resumed her teasing of Carver. The boy was obviously torn between being furious with her and dragging her upstairs to the nearest bed. Varric and Hawke tried to outdo each other’s quips and wisecracks, managing to even get a smile or two out of Fenris. When he became too broody Hawke would sit next to him and talk quietly, but animatedly to him, until she drew him out again. 

He had to admit it felt good to be out among people. He’d had more ale than he should have: Justice would let him hear about that in the morning, no doubt. He’d never quite been able to decide what objection Justice had to his getting drunk. Was it simply that he considered it a frivolity? Or was it because it was harder for him to assert himself? Whichever it was, he was blissfully quiet now. He looked up as Hawke came up to him, a smile on her face. She looked past him at the bartender who was filling the orders. 

“Maker, isn’t he done yet?” She grabbed two ales from the tray and handed one to Anders. “Corf, my darling, you’ll take the rest over to the table won’t you?” Without waiting for an answer she turned back to Anders. “Come.” She took his hand and pulled him over to a small round table in the corner and flounced into a chair. 

“You’re in a good mood.” He said with a smile, sliding in next to her. She was more than a little tipsy, he thought, but it just added to her charm. 

“I am.” She said happily. “I like our little gang. Group. Team. Crew.” She tried out each word and then frowned a little. “I haven’t quite decided what to call us.” 

He raised an eyebrow as he looked them over. “Well, we’re certainly an interesting collection.”

She laughed. “We’ll never be accused of being dull, that’s a certainty.” She looked up at him, cheeks flushed her eyes appraising him. “You look better.” She said with satisfaction. “I told you a night out would do you some good.”

He’d tried to go back to his clinic after they’d returned but she’d insisted he come along to the Hanged Man. He did feel better, though it had nothing to do with the crowd, and everything to do with the girl sitting next to him. He looked around. “I have missed this.” He admitted. “I used to love sneaking into taverns when I was on the run. Sitting, surrounded by people doing anything they wanted, saying anything they wanted. Laughing and singing. Fighting or fondling. It was so alive after the hush of living in the Circle.”

“Da used to say the same thing. Well, not the fondling part. He all but let us run wild when we were growing up. I’m sure it was in reaction to having grown up in the Circle. Mother would try to discipline us and Da would just smile and say, ‘where’s the harm, Leandra?’" 

Anders smiled at the picture. “If you only knew how many mages dream of just that.” 

“What, out of control, ill-behaved children?” she asked with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Freedom. A family. A life without supervision.”

Her expression softened. “Yes. I can understand that.” 

“I wanted to apologize. I’ve been a bit weighty the last few times we spoke. I’m sorry for putting that on you. I’ve been selfish, unloading all my problems on you.” 

“Oh, people always tell me their darkest secrets. I must look trustworthy.” She shrugged.

His eyes ran over her face, and then unable to help himself, down her slender leather clad body. “You look….something.” 

She laughed out loud. “Well that covers a multitude of sins.” 

He looked carefully at her. “You look true. Proud. I know that even if you don’t agree with me, you’ll be honest.” 

She flushed at the compliment but said lightly, “Most would call it an inability to keep my mouth shut. But thank you. It’s a lovely thing to say.” 

“I am sorry for it though. You’ve got your own things to deal with.” 

“What, you mean the ancient and frightening witch of legend prophesying I’m to be at the center of some future disaster that I’ll be helpless to prevent which will forever change the world? I haven't been thinking of that at all.” She said with a grin.

He shook his head. She could laugh about anything. “Of course not. Why would you?” 

“Hasn’t even crossed my mind.” She sighed suddenly. “I’m actually more worried about getting the funds together for this expedition. That at least I have some control over. And if I don’t...” her voice trailed off. 

He looked puzzled, and she just shook her head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. My former employer is less than thrilled about something I did. It’s not important.” She waved her hand, dismissing it.

“Is he a danger to you?” Anders said with a frown.

“I’m still trying to decide. He suddenly seems to have become very helpful, and that makes me a little nervous.” There had been another note waiting when they’d returned. Something about a mine that might be cursed or haunted. Meeran never gave away this much work. She just couldn’t figure out why he was doing it. 

She had caught her lower lip between her teeth. Something he had already learned she only did when she was worried. He reached out and took her hand. “It’ll be okay. You’ve got a gang now, remember.”

She smiled, looking over at the group. Isabela seemed to have transferred her attentions to Fenris and Carver was attempting to flirt with Merrill, who seemed oblivious to his efforts. “Yes. A gang. That’s good to remember.” She squeezed his hand in thanks, and made to pull hers back but his grip tightened. He compared their two hands.

“You’re such a little thing.” He remarked.

“Or maybe you’re just freakishly large.” She retorted immediately. She looked at their two hands together. He had beautiful hands, narrow, elegant, long fingers, and scrupulously clean. A healer’s hands. She brought her other hand up and studied his hand carefully, running her fingers over his palm. “It must be amazing to be able to heal. To use your hands like that. Is it?”

No one had ever just come out and asked him that. He was momentarily distracted by the feel of her fingers, featherlight, stroking his palm. “It’s the most amazing thing in the world. To be able to heal, to stop someone’s pain.”

“What’s it like?”

He struggled to find the words. “It’s almost as if you put yourself inside that person. Exploring, feeling their heartbeat, how the blood flows, where the pain is, and then working to fix what needs fixing, just knowing suddenly when it’s working the way it’s supposed to.”

“But if you’re putting a part of yourself into that person, isn’t it painful?” 

“Not painful exactly. When someone needs healing, finding what’s wrong.” He struggled to put it into words that would make sense to a layman. “It’s as if you’re running your hand over something perfectly smooth and soft to the touch and then you suddenly hit something rough. It’s jarring more than painful. And the worse the injury, the more jarring it is. Only it’s not your hand you’re using, it’s the deepest part of yourself.”

“So when you healed me on Sundermount today, how jagged?” she asked curiously.

“Like switching from polished marble to unpolished. But just for a second.” He didn’t tell her how amazing it had felt to heal her. Every person had a slightly different feel when you healed them. Hawke felt bright. Warm, like sitting in front of glowing coals on a cold night. For just a moment he had let himself bask in that glow. 

She had her head tilted to one side as she considered his words, still lightly trailing her fingers over his hand. 

“Didn't you ever ask your father about this.” He said, mostly to distract himself.

She looked regretful. “No. I was such a selfish little beast, it didn’t even occur to me to ask him about it. I just accepted it as something he could do, like other fathers could split logs, or build fences. You fell out of a tree and got a bruise or started bleeding, or broke something and you just went to Da and he’d make it better. That he couldn’t heal himself when he got sick was a shock to say the least.”

“Did your sister have healing skills as well?” 

“Only very basic ones. That surprised me as well.” She smiled thinking of her beautiful, elegant sister. A true Amell, Mother always said. “Sweet Bethany. She was the most gentle, tenderhearted person. You would think healing would be a part of that, wouldn’t you? But her skill was with fire spells. It was more something she learned to control than ever used. Except against the darkspawn when we were fleeing Lothering. I don’t think we’d have made it as far as we did without her skills. She hated doing it though. Destruction just wasn’t part of her nature.” She looked at him curiously. “You’ve got more than just the skills of a spirit healer. You were using all sorts of spells today.”

She’d noticed that. “I’m unlucky enough to have a pronounced level of skill in more than one class of magic.” He admitted.

“Unlucky enough?”

“It calls down a certain amount of attention on a mage in the Circle when he shows pronounced skill in more than one school. The Templars were watching me carefully long before I started escaping.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“How many schools do you have ‘pronounced’ skills in?” she asked.

He gave her a wry smile. “All of them.” He admitted.

“Ouch.” She said. “I’m sorry. That must have made things difficult for you.” 

He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss on it, mostly to stop those soft touches. “You’ve nothing to apologize for, sweetheart.” The endearment slipped out. He quickly put her hand back down on the table in front of her. She was sweet, though. She was so lively, so energetic, so bold with her wisecracks and her sarcastic retorts that you didn’t realize it at first. And then you saw her soothing other people’s pain, helping them with their problems, expecting nothing in return, just giving everything. He’d only ever met one other person like that.

He watched her as she sipped her ale, and then leaned her head back against the wall behind her. She glanced over. “What?”

“I had a friend like you once.” Talking with Varric about the Commander had made him realize the similarities. They weren’t exactly alike. Nell Cousland was the daughter of a teryn, she'd been raised to lead, and had a confidence that was bred, not learned, and in spite of her good humor and willingness to laugh at almost anything or anyone, she was more reserved, more serene than Hawke, who fairly crackled with energy even when she was sitting still. But they shared that generosity of spirit, that fearlessness, that complete devotion to their companions. “She got into all sorts of trouble. Dragged me along. I didn’t think I’d be doing that again.”

“That does sound like me. Catching everyone else up in my trouble, whether they like it or not.” _Hurtled into the chaos you fight and the world will shake before you_. She gave a little shiver as the words echoed and deliberately turned her thoughts to other things. She wondered who this woman was. A former lover? One of many she suspected. He was so very good looking. Those rich amber colored eyes were looking at her intently. Warmly. Was that what people meant by bedroom eyes? 

She leaned her head against the wall watching him. The small table seemed somehow removed from the rest of the chaos of the Hanged Man. Intimate, somehow. It felt nice. “I owe you. For tagging along today. And for the healing. The very least I can do is listen when you need to talk. You don’t need to worry about it bothering me. You can tell me anything.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Anything?” He teased. “You should be careful who you make that offer to.”

She blushed pink but smiled. “Do your worst.” She challenged.

He looked thoughtful wondering if he should continue. “It’s just.” He leaned forward. “I hope I didn’t seem too selfish, when I told you about Justice. I didn’t know that this would happen. I figured a willing host, a friend. It had to be better than playing the demon and haunting some corpse.” His eyes were far away and filled with regret. “We had such plans, he and I. We were going to work together. Bring justice to every child who had ever been ripped from his mother’s side and shoved into the Circle. But I had too much anger. He changed. And now when he sees the injustice mages suffer he comes out. And he’s no longer my friend Justice, but Vengeance. He has no concept of mercy.”

She put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. It’s obviously difficult for you.”

“I thought I was helping my friend. He would have died otherwise, I think. Whatever than means for a spirit.” He shoved the mug away from him and stared unseeing, straight ahead. 

Hawke was silent for a moment. “So. That explains the whole tortured sexy look.” She said.

He gave her a stunned look. Whatever he had expected her to say, it hadn’t been that. “Perhaps I should check a looking glass more often.” He said with a small smile. He shook his head. “You keep surprising me, Hawke. I hadn’t thought to find a woman who would look past what I just said.” 

How long had it been since he’d flirted with someone? Since he’d even thought about such things. Such a mundane thing, but it felt so good, so normal.

She leaned forward, her elbow on the table, her head resting on her hand facing him. “You’re too hard on yourself. You wanted to help a friend. We can’t always predict the outcome of our actions. We can only make them with a true heart. As you did. It’s one of the bravest things I’ve ever heard of.” 

Was that actually admiration in her eyes? She was so innocent in some ways. She still believed that good would triumph over evil. That everything would work out. And she was starting to make him feel it too. She made him feel hopeful. That perhaps he hadn’t been selfish and stupid when he agreed to merge with Justice. That they had a chance to change things for the better for mages. 

He shook his head in disbelief. “Kind, wise and beautiful. You must have made a deal with some demons yourself.” He teased. They weren’t just words. She was beautiful. More than beautiful. His hand reached out to touch an escaped curl and he twirled it lazily around his finger. 

She stared stupidly at him, not knowing what to say. She suddenly wished she’d drunk less. She really wasn’t used to compliments like that. Did he really think she was beautiful? She was finding it hard to think straight. 

He watched the emotions play out nakedly on her face. Oh, he’d missed this: the pursuit. Flirting. Teasing. Letting a woman know that you wanted her. Making her want you too. Unable to help himself he took her hand in his again. His thumbs ran over the callouses on her palms. He pressed the palm to his mouth, hearing her quick intake of breath. It went straight to his groin. 

This was such a bad idea, he thought as he let his lips wander to the inside of her wrist. Justice was right. He should stay away from the alcohol. It obviously impaired his judgment. He’d been trying to hold back, had been fairly successful, he thought, but right now he didn’t care. He saw the fascination in her eyes, the attraction she felt that she wasn’t bothering to conceal. She was beautiful. She was willing, he thought. Why shouldn’t he let himself have this? Her mouth had parted slightly. That full upper lip. He wanted to grab it between his teeth. Unable to help himself he reached out and ran his thumb over it. She swallowed hard and unbidden her tongue ran over her lip where his finger had just touched. Her eyes were huge as she looked at him. He could see the desire there. 

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” He asked, his voice pitched low. 

She lowered her eyes briefly, nervously. Was this actually happening? She looked back at him. Those warm brown eyes were watching her, promising all sorts of things, things that she probably couldn’t even begin to imagine. But, oh, how she wanted to.

“Doesn’t mean I want you to stop.” She said, her sudden breathlessness making her voice throaty.

He was almost overwhelmed by the rush of pure lust he felt at her words. He rested his forehead against hers for a moment, inhaling the scent of her. He cupped her face in his hand and leaned in to kiss her, to taste her. Her eyes closed briefly and then opened, meeting his. Full of hope and longing. 

Utterly trusting.

He stopped, suddenly completely sober. Maker, what was he doing? He was already half in love with her. He could make her fall for him, he knew he could. But what sort of thank you would that be for all she had done for him? For the friendship she had offered. He dropped his hand and pulled back.

“No. I shouldn’t do this.” He said stiffly.

Disappointment ran through her. “Oh.” She shifted back to her chair. She’d thought. “Oh.” She repeated stupidly.

“We shouldn’t. It would make working together uncomfortable.” He said stiffly.

“Of course.’ She said. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right.” Disappointment and humiliation battled it out inside her. She’d never figure this stuff out. It was even worse than Alfie Barlin. At least he’d found her attractive enough to kiss, as unappealing as the kiss itself had been. Mother was right. She’d didn’t have the looks or elegance of the Amells. Apparently she only appealed to men like Meeran. That was too depressing a thought to even contemplate.

She looked over at him. He looked concerned. His eyes filled with something. Pity? No. That she wouldn’t accept. She flashed a brilliant smile at him, hoping it didn’t look as fake as it felt. “I need to get some air. It’s far too stuffy in here, and I’ve had too much ale.” 

“Hawke.” his voice was pleading.

“Really, it’s fine, Anders. I just need to clear my head.”

“Hawke.” He called after her, but she had already slid out from behind the table and was halfway to the door. He watched as she walked quickly out of the tavern. Andraste’s ass. What in the Void had he been thinking to let it go that far. 

He looked up as Varric slid into Hawke’s seat. Oh, wonderful.

“So, those were some steamy looks between you and Hawke earlier today.” The dwarf said, with no preamble whatsoever.

Anders didn’t say anything. He had a good idea where this conversation was headed.

“Of course they didn’t compare to the little scene that played out just now. You’re lucky Carver had his back to you.”

Had he really done that in the middle of a bar while her brother was just across the room? He was never going to get drunk again. 

“We were just flirting Varric. It didn’t mean anything.”

“For you maybe, Blondie.” 

“Hawke’s a big girl.” He said, hoping that was true. 

“I’d have to disagree with you there. She’s just a kid, really. Not even twenty-one.” 

Maker. As young as that?

“Doesn’t have a lot of experience. Growing up the way she did didn’t give her a chance for a lot of romantic encounters.”

Guilt began to gnaw at him. “Is there a point to this line of conversation, Varric?”

“She’s only ever been kissed. Once. Apparently it wasn’t anything to write home about.”

He stared at the dwarf. He didn’t mean.

“A virgin. Right here in the Hanged Man. Never thought I’d see it.”

He opened his mouth to say that was ridiculous, and then he realized it really wasn’t. It made perfect sense. Life on the run. Protecting her sister. Hiding herself the way she had. Anders suddenly felt like the worst kind of cad, a tease, playing with someone who didn’t know the rules of the game. He pushed up from the table and went outside after Hawke. He spotted her almost immediately perched on a nearby barrel staring up at the sky. He walked quickly over to her.

For just a moment she looked embarassed when she saw him, and then she quickly put that fake smile on again. “Too stuffy for you too?” She looked back up at the sky. “I hate that you can’t see the stars at night in Kirkwall.”

He took her face in his hands and pressed a kiss to her forehead, “I’m sorry.” He pressed a kiss to each eyelid and the gathered her into his arms, just holding her.

“Um. I’m getting some mixed signals here, Anders.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and pulled back to look at her. His eyes were pleading. “It’s for the best Hawke. I don’t want to hurt you.” He said almost desperately. 

She looked confused. “Why would you hurt me?” She asked wondering at the anguish in his face. 

“A year ago, maybe we could have had something. But I’m not that man anymore. I’ll never be that man again. Please understand.” He pleaded.

“Really. It’s okay.” She said. And it was. Sort of. She was more worried about the look on his face now. Regretful. Pained.

He took her hands in both of his. “You saw what I did in the Chantry. That’s who I am. You can’t ignore it or wish it away.” He looked at her. She was so lovely. So brave. So innocent. Being with him would destroy that. Would destroy her. “If we did this. If I let myself…. I’d break your heart, Hawke. And that might kill me as surely as the Templars.” 

He let himself kiss her forehead one more time, and walked away towards the entrance to Darktown.

Hawke just sat there for a moment in confusion, debating whether or not to go after him. Whatever else was going on, he was hurting badly. She hated that. 

“Things not working out, kitten?” asked Isabela, walking up to her.

Hawke gave her a small resigned smile. “I am going to die a virgin, apparently.”

Isabela scoffed at that. She leaned against the barrel. “Not bloody likely. But tall, blonde and possessed?” she shook her head. “Not for you.” 

Hawke looked defiant. “I like him. He’s a good man. I could have a future with him. I know all about what it’s like living with an apostate. I could probably fall in love with him. Maybe I am falling in love with him.” 

“No.” Isabela said firmly.

Hawke glared at her. “How is it you’re sure, and I’m not? I could be.” She insisted.

“Oh sweet thing. Listen to you. I might be. I could be. When you fall in love, Hawke? You’ll know it. There won’t be any doubt.”

Hawke scowled. “Why do I even need to be in love? I could just sleep with people. Just enjoy myself. You do it. Carver does it. Why couldn’t I do that? I could do that.” 

“Keep trying to convince yourself, Kitten. That’s just your lady parts talking. Some people can just get by when it comes to love. Not you. You just give everything. You wouldn’t be happy with that sort of arrangement.” 

Hawke looked pointedly at her.

“I’m different, sweet thing. I’m shallow.” Isabela explained. “But you.” She shook her head. “No. Hold out. Wait for that man who makes your heart beat faster just by coming into the room. The one who you have an instant connection with. The one who’ll give you as much as you give him. You’ll know it when you find it.”

“You sound like one of Varric’s novels.” 

“There’s a reason that they sell so well. Of course, if you found yourself just wanting to relieve some tension, I’d be more than happy to help you out. Just say the word.” 

Hawke laughed. Isabela had been saying things like that since the first time they met. She jumped off the barrel, and put an arm around the taller woman’s waist. “I’ll think about it.” She said with a smile.

Isabela smiled back, knowing she wouldn’t. You just knew these things sometimes. “Come back inside and watch me torment your brother some more. I think I’ve almost gotten him to the point where he might snap, drag me upstairs, and ravish me senseless.” 

Hawke cast one last frowning look towards Darktown and then let Isabela lead her back into the Hanged Man.

 

When Anders got up the next morning after yet another sleepless night, he found Hawke once again sitting outside his clinic, Boy at her side. His heart fell. She wasn’t going to give up. She had to. He couldn’t resist her if she persisted.

She looked up at him. “Tarts.” She said.

He blinked at her. “Excuse me?”

“Tarts. Assorted flavors, since I didn’t know your favorite. Strawberry, apple, blueberry. Only one raspberry, though and that’s mine.” She pushed herself to her feet, grabbing her basket and walked past him into the clinic.

He followed her in. Hadn’t she understood? “Hawke, I can’t…”

She turned, her hands on her hips. “Can’t what? Have a friend? Be a friend? You think I’m only interested in you for your scrawny, undernourished body and somewhat questionable romantic skills? That I’m that shallow?” 

He smiled in spite of himself. “No. Of course not.” 

“I should hope not.” She looked at him expectantly. “So?”

“So?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Hot water? For tea? You’re really going to have to pick up on things more quickly if we’re going be friends.” She turned away and started unpacking the basket.

A smartass, he thought with a smile as he went to get the water. 

Friends. Just friends. It would be enough. It had to be. He couldn’t give her more. But he could give her that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rumor has it that the next chapter I post might have Sebastian and Hawke in the same room. Talking to each other, even. What possessed me to try and write a story where the romantic leads don't even hang out together until three years after the story starts?


	14. You Have My Thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and her companions defeat the Flint Company Mercenaries and deliver the news to Sebastian.

Hawke’s “gang” got quite busy after their return from Sundermount. They helped Isabela out with her duel, which ended with another fight and another pile of corpses in the Chantry. 

“You know,” commented Hawke as they fled down the steps of the Chantry for the second time in as many weeks. “I would really like to stop killing people in the Chantry. With the business we’re in it just seems like a bad idea to be constantly leaving dead bodies in the Maker’s house. Anyone else agree? No? Just me then?”

Assisting Aveline with a job somehow resulted in her being appointed the new Captain of the Guard, or at least it would once all Seneschal Bran’s hoops were jumped through. 

They helped an elven woman named Arianni find her son, Feynriel, “another apostate” as Fenris put it. This led to an introduction to a Templar named Thrask, who seemed a decent fellow even to Anders. And Anders and Hawke had their first argument, a full blown shouting match when Hawke sent Feynriel to the Circle instead of letting him go to the Dalish for training.

“I can’t believe you sent him to the Circle. After everything I’ve told you about it. After everything your Father told you.”

“Anders, demons are already speaking to him, asking him to do things. He needs protection from that. Kirkwall needs protection from that.”

“You could have sent him to the Dalish! He would have had a chance there. Merethari could have helped him. Taught him.”

“Like she did Merrill? The only thing that Marethari has proved about training mages is that she can produce a blood mage and her solution for dealing with it is to send them here, and just setting blood mages free in the city doesn’t seem like fixing it to me.”

“Fine.” Shouted Anders. “It’ll be on your head when the boy is made tranquil.” 

“Of course it will be.” She yelled after him as he stormed away. “Just like everything else we do!” 

They were barely speaking a week later when they all nearly fell under the thrall of a blood mage working in The Blooming Rose. The sight of Hawke, her dagger in her hand, a thin line of red appearing as she dragged it along her own throat, pleading with him to help her, and any anger vanished instantly.

“Let go of my friends.” he snarled through gritted teeth, catching Hawke as Idunna’s hold was suddenly released and she sagged against him. His hand went immediately to her throat as he healed the cut, and he didn’t even blink when Hawke summoned the Templars to take Idunna into custody. 

The truce didn’t last long. After finding and eliminating the blood mages in the undercity, they went to report back to Knight Captain Cullen. When Hawke agreed with Cullen that numerous gangs of blood mages showed that the Templars were necessary, he turned and left without waiting to hear anything more. It took Varric’s coming down to his clinic and idly recounting the rest of the conversation, how Cullen had agreed that things needed to change, that there was fault on both sides before he’d agreed to come to the Hanged Man again. Hawke didn’t mention their disagreement when he showed up, just smiled and ordered him a drink. 

Through an encounter with a dwarven merchant, Javaris, they somehow ended up on the Wounded Coast, taking out groups of Tal-Vashoth, which led to a meeting with the Arishok at his compound in the docks. The same trip finally gave them the opportunity to wipe out the last of the Flint Company’s camps. As soon as they left the Qunari compound, Anabel insisted on heading up to Hightown, to let the prince know. 

Carver was griping as they climbed the stairs of the Chantry. "Explain to me why it was so important that we do this today? Why we couldn’t just go and have a drink and actually sit down?”

“Sweet Andraste, you whine a lot.” She commented, pushing open the huge door.

She blinked as they entered the Chantry, trying to accustom her eyes to the much dimmer light after the afternoon sunshine outside. “Let’s try and find him quickly.” she said looking over her shoulder at the others. “I don’t want to have to hear another lecture about clanking through the Chantry from Sister What’s Her Name, and then we’ll head to the Hanged…” Her comment was abruptly interrupted when she plowed into someone coming out of a side room. The figure was much larger than she, and she was knocked to the floor.

“I am so sorry.” The man bent down to help her to her feet. “I’m afraid I was facing in the wrong direction and didn’t see you.”

“And I was talking to someone behind me. I suppose that’s the reason our eyes were placed in the front of our heads.” She laughed as she looked up at him. Her mouth fell open. It was him. The Prince.

“Yes, the Maker’s wisdom was clear on that design, as we’ve just proven.” Sebastian smiled as he looked down at her. Wild red curls, escaping the ribbon she’d tied them back with, big blue eyes, and the most charming dimple. She was lovely, he thought. He didn’t remember ever having seen her before. She didn’t respond to his comment, was in fact just staring at him, her lips parted slightly. “Are you certain you’re all right?” She was so much smaller than he, and had fallen with such force. The top of her head came barely above his shoulder. 

“It’s you.” She said, sounding surprised. 

He couldn’t help smiling. “When last I checked.” He said. One red curl had fallen over her eye and he had to resist the urge to tuck it back out of her face. His heart was actually beating faster. He hadn’t had a reaction like this to a woman…well, ever.

“It’s just that I came here looking for you. I hadn’t expected to find you so easily. Or so awkwardly.” She added to herself. She couldn't have managed a dignified entrance, could she? She had to go plowing into the man. She stole another glance at him. Those sky blue eyes were even more extraordinary this close. She didn't seem to be able to look away from them, but he seemed to be looking at her just as intently, she realized. Her heart was thumping oddly. It was probably just a reaction to his very good looks, she told herself. Maker, was she really that shallow? 

Sebastian couldn’t seem to stop staring at her. He shook his head, utterly bewildered by his reaction. It wasn’t just that she was pretty, though she undeniably was. There was something else. “You were looking for me?” Was she someone he knew? Surely he would have remembered meeting her. “Have we met? I’m sorry, I can’t recall…” Her eyes were incredible. He’d thought they were blue, but there was green in them as well, quite distinct from the blue. It was unusual. Mesmerizing. 

“No, we haven’t met. Not really.” Maker, he was beautiful, even more beautiful than he had been from a distance. And tall, taller than Anders, almost as tall as Carver, though far more slender. She suddenly wished she had gone home and cleaned up before coming here. She felt grimy and bedraggled and tangled, and she knew her nose was sunburned. What must she look like to him? 

There was a light sprinkling of golden freckles on her slightly sunburned nose, and her hair was windblown. Utterly natural, like she’d spent the day running about outside. So different from the women he usually saw in the Chantry, tidy, dressed in their best. He wondered what she’d been doing. 

A sound from the nave caused her to glance over there. The sisters were preparing for a service. The huge golden statue of Andraste seemed to be looking at her reproachfully, reminding her they were standing in the middle of the Chantry and she had come here for a purpose. She looked back at him to find he was still staring at her. Now that she was in front of him she couldn’t figure out quite how to tell him about the fate of Flint Company. She glanced nervously at the statue again. Unquestionably, a reproachful look, she thought. It probably remembered her from her last two visits, when she’d left all those dead bodies behind. Definitely a bad idea. She began to wonder if this was really the place to talk about even more killing that she'd done. 

Just say it, she told herself. 

She turned back to him. “So is anyone here going to smite me if I tell you that I took care of the men that killed your family?” she asked. She heard Carver actually smack his forehead with his hand, and Varric give a snort of laughter. She couldn’t believe she’d actually said that aloud.

He looked startled, as well he might, and then puzzled, his eyes flickering briefly over her companions and then back to her. “My post to the Chanter’s Board? Did her Grace let that stay? I thought for certain…” She was just a girl. How could she have taken care of a group of assassins?

As always, when she was nervous, she talked. “We got all the camps mentioned on your post. We’ve only just returned from the last camp on the Wounded Coast. It seemed to be their base of operations. I mean, there were more men there than at the other two. The other two camps, I mean. And more, well, stuff.” Brilliantly put, Anabel, she thought. You know how to make an impression.

He looked even more puzzled then before. “But you say you’ve killed them?” Who was she? He tried to get a better look at her in the dim light of the Chantry. 

Those blue eyes were fixed on her once again. “Um…well, they seemed fairly dead.” She managed to get out. What? Maker, she sounded like an idiot. Carver’s snickering behind her didn’t help.

He looked away, trying to process it. Dead. Those monsters were dead. Sebastian waited for some sort of emotion at the news. He just felt numb, dazed at her words. 

The girl, at first embarrassed now looked concerned. “Are you all right?” she asked softly. 

She had a beautiful voice he thought idly. It was low, melodic, soothing. He hastened to reassure her. “You have my eternal gratitude serrah. It is comforting to realize that my family might now rest quietly in their graves.” The words came out automatically, a response to a service rendered. 

She frowned, still looking concerned, but reached into her pocket and pulled something out. “One of the Flint Company mercenaries had this. I thought it might be yours. That it might belong to your family.” She held out her hand. 

Sebastian looked down at his grandmother’s locket, lying there in her palm. He reached down and picked it up, his fingers running over it. Almost automatically, he opened it as he used to when he was a boy visiting his grandfather. He saw the crude scrapes in the gold where someone had gouged out the portraits, no doubt to make it easier to sell. “Yes. Yes, it did.” He managed to say. He ran his thumb over the small amethysts in the flowers engraved on the front and his hand closed tight around it, his eyes filling with pain. 

She reached out and put her hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry for your loss. It gets better. Not quickly, but it does.” Her eyes were sympathetic as she looked up at him. 

She’d lost people as well, Sebastian realized. She understood. This girl with her wild bright curls, who seemed to bring the sunshine and color of the world outside into the dim light of the Chantry, she knew what he was feeling. She wasn’t like the others with their meaningless platitudes. “Thank you.” He said sincerely. Her hand tightened briefly on his arm before she moved it. He slipped the necklace into his pocket. 

“Do you know who might have hired them? The mercenaries I mean?” she asked. 

He looked grim. “That’s a question that’s been plaguing me since I found out. I don’t know. My family has ruled Starkhaven for six generations. We have enemies, as does any ruler, but to do something like this...” He shook his head.

“Who’s running things there now?” She was direct, certainly. Truthfully he preferred that to all the careful stepping that everyone seemed to do around him these days.

“A distant cousin of mine has claimed the throne, but he…” His thoughts went to poor, sad Goran. “He is a bit simple. He can be but a pawn in this.” 

“You’ve no ideas?” Said Hawke, her mind running through the possibilities. 

It seemed strange to be discussing it with someone he’d just met but he found himself answering. ”Someone from outside Starkhaven. My parents were too prudent to let our nobles get discontent.” 

She considered his words. “And Kirkwall is Starkhaven’s largest trading partner. So probably someone here.” She looked thoughtful. “Not the Carta or the Merchant’s Guild. But someone with enough clout and connections inside and outside of Kirkwall.” She wasn’t looking at him, but into the distance as she spoke. 

Sebastian looked at her, astounded. This slip of a girl had grasped what he had been trying to convince Viscount Dumar of for weeks. She wasn’t merely a sword for hire, as strange as that idea had seemed at first, given her appearance. There was a keen mind there as well. Who was she? She nibbled gently on her lower lip as she thought. His eyes couldn’t help being drawn her mouth. Her lips were a color that was rarely seen without cosmetics, so full and red he could imagine that they had just been forcefully kissed. His thoughts startled him. Lust hadn’t been a sin that troubled him for years. 

She was looking at him appraisingly, her head tilted slightly to the side. 

“But why aren’t you dead?” she said more to herself than to him. The hulking man behind her laughed out loud and she glared at him. He glared back and Sebastian realized they had the same remarkable eyes. A brother? 

She turned back to Sebastian. “I’m sorry, I was thinking out loud, and I phrased that poorly. What I meant to say was why haven’t they tried to kill you too?” 

“I’m sure they intended too. That’s why I took the offensive. Thanks to you these Flint Company mercenaries won’t have the chance. I am the last of my line. Unless I survive my family will have no justice.” A bit of the fire that she had seen in the Chantry courtyard sparked in his eyes.

Fighting for justice, just like the prince in the storybook she’d as a child. She suddenly realized she’d been staring at him without saying anything her mouth gaping open. Looking like a fool, no doubt. Say something, Hawke.

“Well, it probably doesn’t matter to your family, but I hope you at least rest easier.” The words came out in a rush before she could stop them, and her eyes widened in horror. Carver actually snorted with laughter this time and at her glare tried to turn it into a cough, sounding more like he was about to hack up a hairball. She felt her cheeks grow hot.

Sebastian laughed out loud. And it felt good. He felt like he hadn’t laughed in weeks. After all the hushed condolences and proper phrases, her lack of artifice was utterly refreshing. 

“Yes, I hope I will.” He couldn’t help smiling. The pink of her cheeks clashed endearingly with her hair. He had to know who she was. “We haven’t been properly introduced. Sebastian Vael, Prince of Starkhaven as you seem to know.” He held out his hand.

She smiled easily back at him. “My name’s Hawke.” she said placing her hand in his much larger one.

Their hands touched and it was as if a current had passed between them. They looked up at each other in surprise. She felt that too, Sebastian realized. His hand closed around hers. Her hand was small and warm inside his. He felt the strangest sense of rightness, of somehow having finally found where he was supposed to be. That was absurd, he thought. The very notion threw him into utter confusion. And she seemed almost as bewildered as he by whatever was happening between them. For a moment, neither of them moved, and then he took an almost involuntary step towards to her, his heart pounding ridiculously, just needing to be closer to her. He heard her quick intake of breath as she tilted her head up, her eyes still locked with his. 

One of her companions cleared his throat. He glanced over. The white haired elf with the strange tattoos. His eyes were narrowed in warning. Her brother was glaring, and the dwarf looked strangely delighted. 

Maker what was going on? He had taken vows, he thought frantically and then remembered that he had in fact renounced those vows. His jaw tightened. 

She noticed the movement. She had obviously upset him gawking at him like a simpleton. She pulled her hand away, and stepped back, trying to regain her composure. What had that been? She’d never had that sort of reaction to anyone. 

He must have offended her. Goggling at her like a lovesick boy. “I’m sorry.” He said, not quite sure just what he was apologizing for. He reached for his coin pouch. “You have my thanks, Serrah. Please, consider this just an advance.” He said with a reassuring smile, trying to show her that he wasn’t a complete lunatic. “When I reclaim my lands you will be paid royally.”

“Thank you.” she said, trying to will her heart to stop pounding. She attempted a normal tone. “We’re trying to raise funds for a venture. Every bit helps.” she said with an answering smile. She reached out to accept the payment and their hands touched again. The same strange almost electric reaction. Their eyes met once more. Maker, it was like one of Isabela’s bad novels, she thought and laughed aloud at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. 

She had a throaty rich laugh, not at all girlish as he’d expected, and he couldn't help joining in, unable to take his eyes from her. He shook his head, still not understanding what had passed between them. 

“Excuse me.“ He said, reluctantly stepping back from her. “I have an appointment with the Viscount that I really can’t be late for. Seneschal Bran does like to scold.” She had no idea how much he wished that he didn’t have to leave. He was irrationally afraid he’d never see her again.

The Viscount. Of course. He was a prince. When you were a prince you had meetings with viscounts. “Of course,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound too disappointed.

One last look. “You have my thanks, Serah Hawke.” He walked past her toward the doors, putting the now empty pouch back in his pocket. His fingers grazed against the chain of his grandmother’s locket as he did so. He pulled it out to look at it.

Suddenly he could hear his grandfather speaking as clearly as if he had been standing beside him. 

_She was beautiful. And brave. She had the loveliest laugh . She lit up a room when she entered it. You find a girl like that and I’ll give you the locket for her…_

He stopped walking, and then turned abruptly, propelled by a force he didn’t begin to understand. He ignored her puzzled look, and just pressed the locket into her hand. She glanced down and then looked up, opening her mouth to protest. He gently closed her fingers over it, and again, there was that inexplicable current of awareness, but softer this time, gentler. Unable to resist he brushed his thumb over her closed fist, feeling her shiver slightly as he did so. He forced himself to turn away, and walked out the chantry doors hardly seeing where he was going. 

Hawke stared after him. She looked down at the locket in her hand brushing her thumb over the small gems, the way he had. No way were they selling this. She didn’t care how long it took to raise the fifty sovereigns. She stared at the door he had disappeared through and released an audible sigh. At least she had a chance to speak with him, to help him. She slipped the locket over her head tucking it carefully inside her shirt. Turning to face her companions, she found them all staring at her. 

She flushed. “What?” she muttered sounding defensive even to herself.

“That was…interesting.” said Varric with a twinkle in his eye.

Carver just looked at her in disbelief. “Maker, Sister, what is wrong with you? ‘Why aren’t you dead’?” The man practically ran out the door.” he said. 

“I…Shut up.” She muttered. She stomped out of the Chantry, Carver following close behind. 

He laughed and slung an arm around her shoulder giving her a quick squeeze. “Poor Anabel. Her one chance with a prince and she fumbles it. Don’t worry, sister. Even if you can’t marry the prince of your dreams, you’ll always have us.” He laughed even harder at the dirty look she gave him. 

“Wonderful. That makes it so much better.” She grumbled. Had she really fumbled it? Oh sure, she thought, because it was only your awkward and inappropriate comments that kept him from immediately proposing to a penniless carrot haired Fereldan refugee. They reached the bottom of the stairs. There were a few people milling about in the plaza, a lone musician was busking in the corner, playing a merry tune. 

“You dream of princes, Hawke? I wouldn’t have picked you for the type.” Varric wasn’t quite sure what had passed between Hawke and the Prince, but he knew something had. A big something. You could feel it. His fingers itched for pen and paper.

She looked at him guardedly. “I never said I dreamed of princes.” 

“From what Junior says it sounds like there’s a story there.”

“No, no story.” She said firmly, but Carver was already speaking.

“When she was little our father got this book of children’s tales somewhere, and gave it to her for her name day.”

“Carver…”she warned.

“And after she reads it she announces she’s going to marry a prince just like in the picture.” 

“Carver!” 

“The picture?” asked Varric.

“Of a prince in shining white armor with eyes...how did it go, again?” he prompted Anabel.

She sighed, and mumbled something under her breath, her cheeks now flaming.

“What was that, sister?” said Carver cupping a hand to his ear, a mocking grin on his face.

“With eyes bluer than the heavens!” She all but shouted. 

Carver laughed even louder, Varric was smiling broadly and even Fenris had a smirk on his face that might be mistaken for a smile. 

She glared at her brother. “I hate you so much.” She said punching him in the arm. Carver kept laughing and picked her up over his shoulder spinning her in circles. “Put me down you big jerk.” But she was already laughing, as he intended.

“You love me. You know you do. Admit it.” 

“Bite me.” She said.

He shook her “Admit it.”

“Never!” she replied.

Carver put her down. She glared at him. “You take entirely too much delight in my making a fool of myself.” She pointed out. 

“The mighty Hawke fumbling and tripping over her own tongue? Yes, please.” He said with a grin. She scowled. “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that.” He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “It might not have been such a disaster. He did sweep you off your feet.” He said in a consoling tone.

She couldn’t help the wistful sigh. “He did.”

“And then knocked you on your ass.” The grin was back.

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re such a jerk.” The musician had switched to a waltz. Carver started to laugh again. She started to walk away, but he moved in front of her blocking her path.

“Dance with me.” He said, smiling.

“No.” she scowled, trying to walk past him. He wouldn’t let her.

“Come on,” he coaxed.

She looked at him for a moment. She hadn’t seen him this lighthearted in a long while. She decided to ignore the fact it was only because she had made an utter ass of herself. Putting her hands on her hips, she demanded, “Ask properly.”

He rolled his eyes, but bowed deeply. “May I have this dance Lady Anabel?” 

She curtsied deeply “But of course Lord Carver.” She put one hand in his, as he placed his other hand on her waist. She was just barely able to reach to place her hand on his shoulder, but it was obvious when they began dancing that this was something they had done many times before. 

“This is a side of the Hawkes I haven’t seen before.” Commented Varric, surprised that Carver could move so gracefully. 

“All part of a proper Amell upbringing.” Said Hawke. “Mother insisted that all three us know how to dance, and not just those vulgar country dances they did in Lothering. Every dance you would need to know to attend a ball at the Viscount’s Keep.”

“Because that’s really useful.” Scoffed Carver. “Reverse.” He instructed Anabel, and they switched directions now spinning the opposite way.

“It was useful for you.” She commented. “Made him the most popular boy at all the village dances in Lothering. You should have heard the girls go on about him.” She spoke in a high pitched breathy voice. “Oh Carver, you dance divinely, Oh Carver, you’re so strong. Oh Carver, you’re so handsome. Oh Carver, you’re so smart.” 

“Smart?” Varric asked with a smirk.

“Well, smarter than Peaches, I suppose.” Hawke said scornfully.

“Peaches?” Varric repeated with a delighted laugh. “Are there really girls named Peaches living in the country? I thought that was only in bad penny dreadfuls.”

“It gets better.” Said Hawke as she and Carver spun past him. “She was a milkmaid.”

Varric laughed out loud. “You’re shitting me.”

“Hey, Peaches was sweet. And she wasn’t dumb.” Objected Carver. 

“She was seventeen years old and called herself Peaches.” Anabel pointed out.

“Well, not all of us can be named after birds of prey, Hawke.” laughed Varric.

“True,” she said with a laugh, “but we can all aspire to it.” A mischievous gleam appeared in her eyes. “She still writes to him.” She imitated the breathy high pitched voice again. “Remember Carver, not every girl will do what I did to you behind the barn that time.” 

Carver froze and looked at her, his eyes narrowing, his hands dropping to his sides. She smiled sweetly at him, as Carver realized she’d read the letter he gotten from Peaches. She squealed with laughter as he grabbed her around the waist and swung her around and upside down. 

Sebastian watched them from the side door of the Chantry, unable to keep the smile from his face at the sound of her laughter. He’d been waylaid on his way out by elderly Chanter Talitha who needed help moving a box into the Chantry. He hadn’t realized how difficult it could be to argue with someone who could only respond with verses of the Chant of Light until he’d tried to explain to her that he couldn’t help, he had an appointment with the viscount. He’d finally given up and just done as she asked, rushing back out in order avoid being even later to his appointment, but had been stopped by the sight of Hawke and her brother dancing to the music in the plaza, totally oblivious to the disapproving looks of the faithful heading to the early evening service. There was such obvious affection between the pair. He envied them. Though his relationship with his own brothers had improved after he joined the Chantry it had never come anywhere close to this. He watched them for a moment longer, until the Chantry bells began to ring, reminding him again of his meeting with the viscount. He forced himself to leave, consoling himself with the thought that if it were the Maker’s will, he would see her again. 

She probably lived down in Lowtown, he thought suddenly as he trotted up the stairs to the Keep. Perhaps he would offer to take the supplies down to the orphanage this week.

 

He found himself thinking of Hawke often in the days that followed. He had taken the supplies to the orphanage, and lingered long enough in Lowtown that he was late to the noon service, but he hadn’t seen her. He was in the Hightown market a few days later when he spotted a flash of red hair. The conversation he’d been having trailed off as he craned his neck to confirm it was Hawke. Her hair was in a loose braid that reached almost to the small of her back, curls escaping in the breeze even as he watched. There was no taming that hair, it seemed, he thought with a smile. She had a look of frustration on her face. She seemed to be arguing with an older woman over something the woman wanted to purchase. 

“Sebastian.” His attention snapped back to the grey haired gentleman beside him 

“Lord Harimann, forgive me. My attention wandered for a moment.” His eyes trailed reluctantly back to Hawke.

Lord Harimann’s eyes flickered over to the pair of women. The older woman had put down the items she had been holding and stalked away in a temper. “The girl’s quite attractive. You know them?”

“I’ve only just met the young lady. Her name is Hawke. Fereldan, I believe.” She looked troubled, he thought, and he fought the urge to go over to her. The look changed to one of resignation as she picked up whatever it was the older woman had discarded and paid the vendor for it, thanking him with a smile. She walked over to the next stall and handed the package to her companion. The petulance disappeared from the older woman’s face and when she smiled he could see a faint resemblance to Hawke. 

He turned his attention back to Lord Harimann, surprised by the stunned expression on his face. “It can’t be. Leandra Amell. I never thought she’d show her face in Kirkwall again.” 

“Amell? Of the Hightown Amells?” He looked back at the two women. Hawke was nobility? Then why was she picking up work from the chanter’s board? 

“Yes. You must have heard the story. Leandra was supposed to marry the Comte de Launcet. And then she ran off with a Fereldan apostate of all things. Malcolm Hawke. The man had more charm than was good for him. The girl’s the spitting image of him.” Lord Harimann’s eyes flickered over the somewhat shabby clothing and Hawke’s mismatched blades. “How the mighty have fallen.” He said disdainfully, watching as Leandra moved on to the next stall.

Sebastian remembered having heard something about it, some bit of gossip in one of his mother’s salons when he was a boy. He looked carefully at Hawke. “Mother always said the Amells were among the finest families in the Free Marches.” It explained the way she carried herself, and the cultured tone of her voice. 

“Magic. It can bring the mightiest of us low.” A shadow briefly crossed Lord Harimann’s face. “Is she one of your Chantry girls?” he said referring to the young girls who came to Chantry services just to sigh after the good looking young brother. 

“Quite the opposite.” Said Sebastian with a curve of his lip, thinking of how she’d burst into the Chantry, announcing she’d killed the mercenaries. He was still looking at Hawke. “She and her companions took out the Flint Company Mercenaries.” 

Lord Harimann viewed Hawke with renewed interest. “Really? I begin to understand your fascination with her.” 

Sebastian looked alarmed at this classification. “I assure you, I’m no more fascinated with her than I would be with anyone who had done me such service.” _Liar_ , he thought.

“Calm yourself Sebastian. I’m sure your behavior is, as ever, exemplary.” He’d actually found the boy more interesting when he was running around drinking and whoring. 

Hawke glanced up at that moment feeling certain someone was watching her. She spotted Sebastian almost at once, his height and white armor making him hard to miss even in the crowded market. She smiled tentatively and raised a hand in greeting. Aware of Lord Harimann’s eyes on him he nodded briefly in return, cursing himself when her face fell in disappointment as she looked away. To the Void with it, he thought. 

“If you would excuse me, Lord Harimann?” He didn’t even wait for a response but crossed the market to Hawke’s side, calling her name as he approached 

Lord Harimann saw the girl’s face light up as Sebastian came near, her smile matched by Sebastian’s own. He observed them together for a few moments. Sebastian Vael and Aristide Amell’s granddaughter. Now that was an interesting match. Aristide would have been absolutely thrilled, the Vaels less so. Old Lachlan had never cared for the Amells, thinking them far too ambitious and concerned with worldly power. Of course it was all idle speculation. Sebastian was a priest, the throne of Starkhaven belonged to someone else, at least for now, and the girl was the product of a disastrous mésalliance with a mage. 

Still, he thought, as he watched her, she was a pretty little thing. He made a mental note to find out what he could about her.


	15. A Burden of Charity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On their way to a nightime meeting with Meeran, Hawke and Carver encounter a Chantry sister in Lowtown.

Carver looked up from cleaning his sword as Mother and Anabel walked into Gamlen’s arguing. Of course. 

“Honestly, Mother, who cares what some Hightown biddies do? Why would you even want to be accepted by people like that?” Anabel looked and sounded utterly exasperated. 

“They were my friends!” Insisted Leandra. She looked upset. Well, more upset than she usually did, he corrected.

“Well, they have a strange way of showing it.” Anabel said dryly, walking past her mother to put the basket on the table. 

“If we only had the mansion back. They know we live down here.” Leandra never could seem to call Lowtown by name, as if not naming it somehow negated the fact that she lived there. “It makes them uncomfortable. If we were in Hightown I know they would come around.”

Anabel looked at her in disbelief. “Mother, will you listen to yourself? Why are you making excuses for them?”

Leandra glared at her. “We should be nobles. We should have a place in Kirkwall society. And it doesn’t help things to have you running around in armor, cavorting with those strange friends of yours, drinking in taverns until all hours. If you didn’t have such a reputation…” 

Anabel cut her off. “If I didn’t have such a reputation we’d have starved six months ago.” She might have known Mother would somehow make this her fault. She really hoped that she wasn’t going to start in on her friends. As far as she was concerned any one of them was worth twenty of those silly cows up in Hightown. She began unpacking the basket, hoping Leandra would just let it go. 

When Mother had expressed a desire to visit the Hightown market this morning, Anabel had agreed to take her, hoping that getting out of Gamlen’s house would do her some good, that it might even make her happy. A foolishly optimistic hope, as it turned out. Leandra had spent most of the time alternating between throwing tantrums and sulking whenever she was told they didn’t have the coin to buy something she wanted. Anabel had the purchase of her new armor thrown in her face more times than she could count. The one bright spot in the afternoon had come when she’d spotted Sebastian Vael. Her heart had again started pounding ridiculously at the mere sight of him, and when he’d walked up to her she’d been unable to keep the smile off her face. They had spoken briefly, an ordinary conversation this time, with no mention of dead families, mercenaries, or assassins, and miraculously no embarrassing blunders on her part. And then Leandra had suddenly appeared, upset, agitated, demanding that they return to Gamlen’s immediately, not acknowledging Sebastian’s presence in any way. She’d literally dragged Anabel away as she tried to make her apologies.

Leandra was still going on. “We’re not in Ferelden any more, Anabel. Things are different here. And even though you don’t have the looks or bearing of the Amells, you could at least try to behave like one.” She insisted. 

Anabel paused for a moment at the words. She looked over and saw Carver watching her carefully. She just rolled her eyes and smirked. He went back to tending his sword. The only thing worse than Mother going on about her looks, or lack of them, was Carver pitying her for it.

It wasn’t the first time she’d heard it. She was certain it wouldn’t be the last. It wasn’t as if she could do anything about it. She wasn’t statuesque, her hair wasn’t dark and straight, her eyes weren’t brown. She was too pale, too thin and too little. She wasn’t ‘elegant’. 

She must have been about ten or eleven the first time Mother had said that to her. “Oh, Anabel, you’ll never be truly elegant.” She’d looked up and found Da’s blue green eyes focused on her. Da, who was thin, and if one were truly honest, actually a few inches shorter than Mother. Da, whose bright red hair never lay straight, whose fair skin always burned in the sun and who always had a few freckles. He’d winked at her and then grinned. She’d grinned back, and not being elegant suddenly didn’t seem such a bad thing at all.

She smiled at the memory. There wasn’t anyone she would rather be like. She resolutely pushed away the hurt Leandra’s words had caused. “I’m not an Amell, Mother. I’m a Hawke.” She said briskly. 

Leandra continued on as if she hadn’t spoken. “You don’t seem to realize that one is judged by the company one keeps.”

“Well this one likes her company just fine.” Anabel said, removing the last of the parcels from the basket, and shoving it on a shelf, trying to ignore the implication about her friends. 

“Which just proves to me how poor your judgment is. It’s not just you this concerns. Carver is judged by the company you keep. You might at least think of him. If you had any decent friends you would realize how important it is to associate with the right people.” 

Anabel turned slowly to face her mother. “So that would make my friends the wrong people?” she asked with apparent indifference. 

Something in her voice made Carver look up again. Her whole body had gone still. Not the relaxed kind of still. The kind of still she went right before she stabbed someone. Her eyes were icy cold as she looked at their mother. Bloody hell, Carver thought, trying to figure out how he could leave the room without anyone noticing when Anabel stood between him and the door, and Mother between him and the bedroom.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know that.” Leandra snapped. “Strange elves, and dwarfs, and that supposed sea captain that everyone knows is no better than a common…” 

Hawke interrupted before her mother could finish the sentence. “Perhaps I should find some friends who quite literally turn their backs on me in the middle of the Hightown market when I attempt to speak to them? Any tips on where friends like that could be found?” She inquired icily. 

Leandra flinched at her words, then she lifted her chin haughtily and stalked into her room, slamming the door behind her.

Carver just stared at his sister. He always forgot how vicious Anabel could be when she got really angry.

She met his eye and gave him a warning look. “Don’t.” She said before Carver could speak.

“Maker, can’t you two spend even an hour together without fighting?” asked Carver. 

“This surprises you somehow? I can’t do anything right, as far as she’s concerned, and frankly, I’m wondering why I even try anymore.” She looked at the closed bedroom door and sighed. “How is it you can run around wherever you want, with whomever you want, and I get the lectures and blame?”

Carver snorted. “I don’t get off that easy. She’s on at me again about the Amell mansion, gave me the key to some hidden entrance from Darktown. Maker knows how she held on to that all these years.” Carver said. “I asked Gamlen about it. Know what he said?”

“What?” 

“He lost it to a bunch of slavers. That’s who’s living in the family manse these days.”

Anabel stared at him for a moment. “That sounds like an arrangement that needs to change.” 

“I knew you’d say that.” Carver looked gloomy. “I don’t even want this life she’s trying to get for me. What would I do as a noble?” 

She tried to picture Carver as Kirkwall nobleman. A picture of him dressed in finery calling out for a pampered little dog like the man she seen earlier popped into her head. She couldn’t help smirking at the image. “I wouldn’t worry too much. We don’t even seem to be able to raise the money for the expedition, let alone buy back a Hightown mansion.”

“I suppose.” He said grudgingly.

“We should take care of those slavers though.” She said absently. 

“You trying to save Kirkwall single handedly?” He asked reaching for a wedge of cheese she’d unpacked. He took out his knife and sliced himself off a piece.

“It feels like it some days.” She said with a wry smile. “Use a plate, please.” 

He pushed up from the table and grabbed a plate off the shelf before returning to the table. “There’s another letter for you on the desk. Came when I was out.” He cut himself some more cheese, and tore off a chunk of bread to go with it and threw it all on the plate.

Hawke walked over to the desk and picked it the letter. She made a face when she saw the handwriting. “Another letter from Meeran.”

“Sod Meeran.” Said Carver eloquently, his mouth full of cheese.

“His last few tips have been good ones.” She admitted reluctantly, breaking the seal.

“Yeah, a broody elf and a poncey Orlesian. Like we need more of that.”

“Fenris is a fantastic fighter.” Anabel protested. “And Hubert….well, he did give us half ownership in the mine.” 

“Half ownership in a mine infested by dragons and undead, that doesn’t seem to actually pay out any money. Thanks for that, Meeran.”

“Maybe that will change now that the miners are earning a decent wage.” She said absently as she read Meeran’s note. 

_Hawke,_  
 _I know we didn't part on the best terms. You were right, I was trying to get more work out of you than was fair. You've more than paid your way into the city. If you're looking for work and good coin, come see me tonight at the Hanged Man. I can keep you busy for a while._  
 _Meeran_

She frowned. 

“What?” said Carver.

“He’s actually apologizing. He wants to meet tonight about setting up more regular work for us.”

“And you think we can trust him?” Carver asked, incredulously.

“No. Of course not. I just wish I could figure out what he was up to.” It was frustrating to say the least. She stared at the letter for a moment considering their options. “We might as well see what he has to say. We were going there anyway. It’ll be way too crowded for him to try anything.”

 

It was already dark when they went by the alienage to pick up Merrill and then made their way towards the Hanged Man. 

“Thank you for coming to get me.” Said Merrill. "I keep getting lost here. The last time I went to the market by myself, it took me four hours to find my way home." Even she seemed impressed by the number.

“Four hours from the Lowtown Market?” asked Carver looking down at her in surprise. “How is that even possible?”

“It’s all these building. They all look the same. It’s not like the forest where every tree is different and you can just look at the leaves or the bark or the stones on the ground and know where you’re going.” Carver had a small smile on his face. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” said Carver, shaking his head. “You’re just not like other girls I’ve met.” 

Merrill looked puzzled. “Of course not. I’m an elf.”

Again that smile. “All right then.”

 _Elgarnan_. She would never understand humans. Unless. “Did I miss something dirty?” she asked hopefully.

Hawke turned and frowned at Carver.

Carver looked alarmed. “What? No. It wasn’t dirty.” He protested to Anabel. “It wasn’t anything.”

“Oh.” Merrill looked a little disappointed. “Because I miss a lot of dirty things and sometimes I wouldn't mind hearing them.” She said, matter of factly.

Carver looked more closely at her. She was awfully cute. He grinned at her. “Would you now? Ow!” He said, as Anabel reached up and hit him on the back of his head, meeting his glare with one of her own. 

“No.” she said pointing a warning finger at him, like he was a bloody mabari. He opened his mouth to complain, but was stopped by the sound of a woman’s voice calling out.

“Coin for services. I seek aid, and have coin to pay.” The voice rang out clearly in the gloomy darkness of Lowtown.

Hawke turned her head to see where it was coming from. There. A Chantry sister. Alone. Loudly proclaiming to all and sundry that she had coin. In Lowtown. At night. 

She exchanged a look with Carver and they both increased their speed, Merrill running to keep up with them, as a man came up behind the woman. 

“Here, miss. Word is you’re looking for help, and paying well.” He said in an oily voice.

The sister turned to face him. “I am. I seek someone native to the dark places below Lowtown. If you claim as much then yes, I will pay.”

The man look delighted. “Oh I am. Here, let’s just step over here, and we’ll have a look at that coin.” He ushered the sister into the dark alley behind him.

“Can you save someone so intent on being foolish?” asked Hawke as they broke into a run, entering the alley to find the bandit and three of his brethren, the sister’s purse already in his hand. He scowled at them.

“I don’t like interruptions.” He snarled.

Hawke just smiled. “You’d hate our little gang then. Everyone’s always interrupting everyone else.” She said casually. “And we’re surprisingly disapproving of men who rob defenseless women. I don’t think you’d fit in at all.” 

His scowl deepened. “Kill them.” He ordered, and his men pulled out their weapons. 

Hawke didn’t hesitate, but whipped out her daggers, spun and slit the throat of the man in directly in front of her. Carver brought his broad sword crashing down on the head of his companion by which time Hawke was already behind the third, burying her daggers in his back, as Merrill hit the fourth with a well-aimed blast of fire.

Hawke walked over to the sister, who looked remarkably calm, all things considered. “Are you all right?” She asked. She picked up the purse and handed it back to her.

The sister brushed off her robes, and accepted the purse. “Thank you for your timely intervention. I fear I am out of my element.” Her tone was almost conversational.

Hawke raised a delicate eyebrow. “You’re just now realizing this?” She shook her head. The woman had no idea of the danger she had been in. “It was a foolish risk to take, Sister. Stick to the Chantry and Hightown. What are you even doing down here at this time of night?” 

“I came looking for a certain type of person.” Said the sister. “Someone with bloody skill, but also integrity.” She glanced at the mangled bodies around them, and then at Hawke, a small smile curving her thin lips as if she approved of what she saw there. “The type of person who might leap to a stranger’s defense. I have a charge who needs safe passage from the city. If you are willing, meet me at my safehouse.” She handed Hawke a piece of paper with directions written neatly on it. 

Hawke glanced at it and looked up at her with a frown. “I save you in a dark alley and suddenly we’re in business?” 

For just a second the woman’s careful mask slipped and she looked annoyed. “You’re in Lowtown. What grand scheme could I be interrupting?” she asked scornfully. 

Anabel liked to think she had a good sense of people and she didn’t like this woman. She didn’t trust this woman. Not one bit. “You assume a lot, Sister. For all you know we could be planning to rob you ourselves.” She pointed out.

“We’re not, are we?” piped up Merrill from behind her.

Hawke sighed. So much for appearing threatening. “No, Merrill. I was trying to make a point.”

“Oh, well that’s good. The not robbing part, I mean. It didn’t seem like the sort of thing you’d do. Rescue someone from a robbery and then rob them.” Her voice faltered at Hawke’s look. “I’ll just stop talking now.”

Hawke looked back at the sister. She might not like her, but she didn’t wish her dead either. “Come. We’ll take you back to the Chantry. You’re not safe here.”

The sister just turned her head slightly, not looking away from Hawke. “Varnell!” she called. A fully armed Templar stepped out from the shadows.

Hawke and Carver immediately moved in front of Merrill. Hawke couldn’t help suddenly feeling like they were the ones who had walked into a trap. “Not so helpless, I see.” She commented.

“I hope you will come.” That cold little smile was back on the woman’s lips. “This matter only grows more urgent with time.” Without another word she turned and walked away, her Templar companion following close behind. 

Carver glanced down at her. “Anabel…”

“Yes.” She agreed. “Not good.” She stood looking after her trying to figure out what this sister was up to. If she even was a sister. The Templar had looked real enough though. “Let’s pick up some of the others before we go to this safehouse.”

He looked at her in exasperation. “Or we could just, I don’t know, not go.” He suggested, knowing what her answer would be even as he said it. 

“Her coin is real, even if her story is a bit suspicious.” 

“A bit suspicious?” he repeated, dubiously.

She shrugged. “A lot suspicious. So we’ll find out more.” She shot him a grin. “You worry too much. What could possibly go wrong?” She said before she sauntered off towards the Hanged Man. 

Carver stared after her. He hated it when she said that. 

She had stopped by the entrance to the tavern when Carver and Merrill caught up to her. He didn’t realize why until he saw Meeran leaning against the wall by the alley just past the Hanged Man. He looked at them both, unsmiling, and then turned and strolled further into the alley.

Hawke stared at the spot where he had been for a moment. She hadn’t seen him since that day in the bath. The sight of him disturbed her more than she had thought it would. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, before turning back to Merrill with a bright smile. “Merrill, will you go in and order us some drinks.” She said pressing a coin into her hands. “Carver and I need to talk to an old friend. We’ll be right in.”

Carver waited until Merrill had gone inside before turning to his sister. “Tell me we’re not seriously thinking of following Meeran into a dark alley on our own.”

She just looked at him.

“Andraste’s ass, Anabel, really?” He said. “Why not get one or two of the others?” She bloody well thought she was indestructible, he thought in frustration.

She frowned. “I don’t really want to advertise the whole incident. The fewer people who know about it the better.” She looked into the alley for a minute, before turning back to him. “You stay by the entrance. If he tries anything, you can get the others.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked into the alley.

Meeran watched as she walked towards him, leaving her brother at the alley’s entrance. His eyes ran over her. She looked good, he thought bitterly, taking in the new armor that hugged every slight curve. She wasn’t hiding it anymore. He silently cursed himself for his blindness in not noticing her earlier. He could have made her his condition for getting them into the city, could have spent the last year teaching her some respect and fucking her senseless. 

“Well. If it ain’t my favorite new citizen. You decide slitting throats is better than begging?” he asked, nastily. 

Hawke bit back her retort, seeing the way his eyes travelled over her. Every instinct was telling her to just walk away, but she wasn’t about to let Meeran see she was afraid.

“You had an offer for me?” she asked him. 

“You mean you’re not too good for my kind of work?” He sneered looking down at her. “Because the blokes I hired after you couldn’t find their ass with both hands.” He hadn’t had these sorts of problems when Hawke was working for him. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to admit just how much she had contributed to running things over the last year, but now the Red Iron was losing jobs and men. Word wasn’t out yet, but it would be soon, if things didn’t change. He’d get her back working for him, or make certain she didn’t work for anyone else. 

Hawke didn’t say anything, just looked at him. So cool. So collected. Like nothing had ever happened between them. He couldn’t stop seeing her unclothed, couldn’t stop feeling that skin under his hands. He wanted nothing more than to grab her and bend her over the nearest crate. Make her beg. But if she could play it cool, so could he. He strolled to the back of the alley and leaned on the iron railing, looking down at the Docks and the harbor. After a moment’s hesitation she joined him there. He didn’t turn his head as he spoke.

“I sent the men to take out Lord Harimann while he was preparing his cargo for shipping at the Docks. Night time. Simple. Never came back.” Idiots, he thought once again. 

“And who’s Lord Harimann?” Hawke asked, her tone almost casual.

Always the questions with her. “I don’t know the who, but the what is old and rich. Rumor says he’s a savvy one. His daughters give him marriage ties to half the city.” He looked sideways at her. That heavy hair of hers was coiled into a knot at the back of her head, showing off the long line of her neck. He wanted to pull it down, knot his hands in it, use it to hold her in place. 

Stupid, she thought, taking a contract on a powerful man, and not bothering to find out why someone wanted him dead. She looked down at the Docks. She could see lights in the Qunari compound. The Docks looked deceptively peaceful from up here. She glanced at Meeran, only just catching a flash of something in his eyes that he was quick to mask. She looked back at the alley entrance to reassure herself that Carver was still there. She turned back to Meeran wanting to finish this. “I haven’t heard a job in this yet, Meeran.”

“The job’s the same. Kill the blighter.” He said brusquely, straightening up.

She paused for just a moment before she spoke. “I need to know where they went if you want me to finish what they started.” With any luck there was a chance she could get there and warn this Lord Harimann, and hopefully get Gustav out in one piece as well.

He looked at her suspiciously, surprised that she had accepted so readily. She’d always objected to assassinations before. She must be getting desperate. Well, that suited his plans just fine. “They were supposed to ambush him at the Docks. That’d be the place to start looking.” 

She nodded and turned away without another word. He grabbed her arm suddenly, feeling her tense at his touch. Oh, she hadn’t forgotten, he noted with satisfaction, though she might pretend otherwise. 

She looked down at his hand on her arm and then back up at him with those inscrutable blue green eyes.

“Remember, Hawke.” he said carefully. “Harimann dead, my lad Gustav alive. Other way around, you don’t get paid.” He dropped her arm and turned away again. When he looked back she and her brother were both gone. 

 

Anabel dragged Carver into the Hanged Man before he could even demand she tell him what Meeran had asked. She pushed through the crowds and over to the table where everyone else had already gathered.

“There you are, Hawke, Junior.” said Varric. “Daisy said you’d run into an old friend.”

Anabel’s voice was a little too bright. “Better than that. I got us another job.” She faltered as she realized she in fact had no intention of doing the job Meeran had hired her for. “Well, it’s actually more of a preventing a job from being done. But if it goes according to plan we might have a grateful nobleman in our debt.”

Varric looked at her carefully. “Well, that’s good too.” He watched as she drank her ale just a little too quickly. He glanced at Carver who was managing to scowl and look concerned at the same time. Varric knew Meeran had been outside earlier. He’d bet anything that was the old friend they’d encountered. He needed to find out what had happened between Hawk and Meeran. He’d call in a few of his contacts, see if they’d discovered anything. Hawke drained her ale and put down the mug and finally seemed to relax a bit. “Edwina!” he called out. We need another round here.” 

 

A few hours later Hawke returned to the table with the latest round of drinks, to find that Carver, Isabela and Merrill were all missing. She cast an alarmed glance up the stairs. “They didn’t…” Not with Merrill too. Please Andraste, no, she thought. It was bad enough thinking of Carver and Isabela that way.

Anders laughed at the alarmed expression on her face. “No. They went to the Blooming Rose. Merrill wanted to see it. Isabela was being far too obliging, so Carver went along to keep an eye on things.” 

Hawke frowned. She’d wanted to go see what that Chantry sister was up to. Carver had known that. If she’d known he was going to run off she would have been drinking much more. She’d been holding back thinking they were going to have a job to do.

Maybe she’d go without him. Just to check it out

Carver would be furious if she went without him. 

He’d be furious if she went at all. He’d made it quite clear he didn’t want any part of this “escort” job. 

She chewed on her lower lip. She really should wait for him to come back. 

She would wait. She would talk him into it, and they could go then. 

There wasn’t any rush. 

None at all.

She drummed her fingers on the table and glanced at the door.

She looked back at Varric, Fenris and Anders. “You three doing anything right now?” She asked casually.

 

They had no difficulties finding the safehouse. Hawke knocked on the door and the sister’s voice called for them to enter. Hawke put her hand on the latch and hesitated. “This suddenly feels like a very bad idea.” She muttered. 

Three sets of eyes turned and stared at her. 

She gave them an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. Did I say that out loud?” Before they had a chance to respond she’d pushed the door open and entered the room, and they quickly followed her. The door closed firmly behind them, and they turned to see the Templar standing there. He looked them over carefully and his eyes widened when he saw Anders. With a snarl, he pulled out his sword. They automatically responded in kind. 

The stood facing each other, frozen, weapons drawn. For a moment no one moved.

“Friend of yours?” Hawke said softly to Anders, daggers at the ready. The templar’s eyes were filled with hatred, but fixed solely on Anders, not on the rest of them. 

Anders was frowning. “I don’t recognize him. Of course most Templars seem to have a thing for me.” He said keeping his tone deliberately light. 

“Of course. And who can blame them, heartbreaker that you are?” She murmured. She looked back at the Templar. “It’s nice to see you too.” She said. “I don’t suppose you’d like to put that away?” she said gesturing at the blade. “I am expected.”

“Varnell!” the voice came sharply from the other side of the room. The sister stood in the doorway there. She gave Varnell a warning look, and he slowly relaxed his stance, putting his sword back in its scabbard, not taking his eyes off Anders. 

Hawke motioned to the others, and they reluctantly did the same. 

The sister was smiling at Hawke as if the whole incident hadn’t happened. “My timely rescuer.” She said, looking pleased. “Thank you for coming.”

“How could I resist such an intriguing invitation?” asked Hawke, turning to face the sister after casting a last glance at Varnell. 

“This matter is delicate and I need someone of limited notoriety, who will not link this to me.” Petrice said carefully.

Wonderful, thought Hawke. A job where the primary concern is that no one know she had anything to do with it. “You said it was an escort. Just what are we escorting?” 

“The nature of the party makes it unique.” conceded the sister.

“If this is illegal, I already have enough trouble.” Hawke commented.

Again that detached smile. “I should think you’re about to have more.” She said smoothly. 

That sense of uneasiness Hawke had felt at the door was back. She kept her face impassive and looked at the sister trying to pinpoint just what it was about her. She wasn’t unattractive, quite the contrary, but everything about her was cold and hard, from her perfectly coiffed pale blond hair, to her dark cosmetics to the icy penetrating gray eyes. The sister turned and gestured and something moved in the room behind her.

A large figure moved out of the shadows to stand beside her. “I am Sister Petrice and this is my burden of charity.” 

Hawke’s mouth fell open. A Qunari. Chained, bound in a collar, a mask on his face, and dear Maker, his mouth sewn shut.

“A saarebas, here?” said Fenris in surprise. At Hawke’s questioning look, he clarified. “A Qunari mage.”

Hawke turned back to Petrice, whose face was a perfect picture of compassion that utterly failed to reach her eyes. “Would even a Templar bind a mage like this? I call him Ketojan.” She said, her voice just oozing sympathy. “A bridge between worlds.” She glanced at Hawke to see her reaction. To her surprise the girl was looking at her, not the Qunari, and her expression was suspicious, rather than horrified or sympathetic.

“You don’t just stumble on something, someone, like this.” she said abruptly. “Where did he come from?”

Petrice frowned. The girl was more shrewd than she had anticipated. “The Qunari do have deserters. Those who seek freedom are hunted mercilessly.”

“The Tal Vashoth, yes.” Hawke said impatiently.

And she knew more about the Qunari than Petrice would have expected of a Lowtown thug. “Indeed. Ser Varnell observed one of their bloody exchanges. This poor soul was their only survivor.”

Hawke glanced at Ser Varnell, wondering just how much his “observing” had to do with that outcome. The Templar was still glaring fiercely at Anders, who was trying to ignore it, though he couldn’t help occasionally glancing at him. She just hoped Justice wouldn’t come out to play.

Petrice was still talking. “The viscount and others confuse peace with appeasement. Were I to turn him over to the City Guard they would likely just return him to his masters. I need you to get him outside the city.”

Hawke hated to admit it but Petrice was right. Aveline probably would turn the mage back over to the Qunari, all the while spouting something about jurisdiction and the law. “And you’re sure he was trying to escape?” she asked.

The questions seemed to be annoying Sister Petrice, though she was doing her best to hide it. “If he wasn’t trying to escape before he certainly is now. No thinking creature would willingly submit to this.”

The mage stood, staring straight ahead, expressionless. “Would freedom be so helpful to him?” Hawke asked. “Where could he go like this?”

“It’s more than he has now.” Sister Petrice said sharply. “My reach is limited. His struggle outside the city is his own affair.” 

“It’s like releasing a bird but not opening the cage.” Hawke commented with a tilt of her head as she watched the Qunari. She looked for some kind of reaction from him to the conversation going on around him. There was none. Perhaps he didn’t understand Common? 

“We do what we can to step towards what is right.” Said Petrice. “That must be enough.”

Hawke turned her head, looking carefully at Petrice. The sister’s veneer seemed to be cracking a bit, she thought. She looked back at Ketojan, considering. The sister wanted him out of the city badly enough to go through more than a little trouble, but didn’t care in the slightest what happened to him once he was there. “If this is such a worthy cause why not enlist the Chantry’s aid?” She asked abruptly.

A ghost of a smile played on Sister Petrice’s lips for just a moment. “My order will soon realize the Qunari presence is more than just a test of faith. Until then though I must act on my own.”

So the Chantry wanted no part of this. A renegade sister, using the Qunari, definitely. But to what end? There was no getting around it. That answer could only be found at wherever it was that this mage was to be taken. 

“Is he safe?” she asked.

Was that the girl’s concern? “He has not fought back or made any aggressive moves, even when taunted.” Petrice reassured her. “Qunari or not I can only assume he wants to be led to freedom.” 

So they’ve been taunting the chained Qunari mage they’re so intent on helping. Why was she even surprised? “But you aren’t even certain it’s freedom he seeks. And if you’re wrong, we have to deal with it.” Hawke commented wryly.

This time Sister Petrice didn’t even bother to hide her annoyance. “That is why I came to Lowtown. You are either capable of the discretion and skill that I need, or you are not.” Petrice shot a glance at Varnell who was still glaring at the man who had accompanied the girl. What was wrong with him? She disliked when things didn’t proceed according to plan. This Fereldan refugee should be grateful for the opportunity to earn some coin instead of asking question after question.

“You’re not even interested in knowing who you’re hiring?” Hawke asked idly. 

Her arrogance was almost beyond belief. “If you were important enough to know, I would be hiring someone else.” Her words earned her a quick grin from the girl before she returned to her observation of the beast. 

That was probably one of the first true statements Sister Petrice had uttered, thought Hawke, glad she had finally managed to provoke her. People were always much more honest when they were a little irritated. She looked at Ketojan carefully. He carried himself with dignity, in spite of the collar and the chains. Whatever was going on, he would certainly be safer with them than with Petrice and Varnell. She turned back to Petrice, who had turned her annoyed glare on Varnell, who was still fixed on Anders.

“It’s Hawke, by the way.”

The girl’s voice interrupted Petrice’s thoughts. “What?” She turned back to face her.

“My name. It’s Hawke.” The girl was smiling again. Perhaps she just needed her ego stroked. Easily done. 

“Very strong. Very Fereldan.” She said in an admiring voice. Perhaps flattery would work where an appeal to compassion had not. 

“I can get him out of Kirkwall.” The girl said, as though Petrice hadn’t spoken. “He’s a bit conspicuous for the streets, though.”

“No one must see him leaving here.” Said Petrice hastily. “There is an entrance to the undercity in the other room. The tunnels lead outside the city.”

An eyebrow raised, a small smile. “How fortuitous.” The girl remarked. “I’m sure the tunnels won’t be dangerous at all.” 

“It is dangerous, but that is why you were hired.” Petrice reminded her sharply.

“True enough.” Said the girl casually, not even looking at her. She walked up to the beast. “Ketojan, is it?” she asked gently. “You need to be led out of the city?” 

He just growled. A series of growls, as if he were trying to say something, but utterly incomprehensible . Hawke looked pointedly at Petrice. 

“It has been difficult to get information.” Petrice was forced to admit. “But look at him. Would you want that?”

Hawke stared at Ketojan for a moment. She was more certain than ever that she was walking into some sort of trap. But she thought of Bethany, or Merrill, or Anders chained in such a way, left at the mercy of Petrice and her pet templar. “Very well. Let’s see this entrance.” 

Petrice looked expectantly at Varnell. He didn’t notice. Her mouth narrowed in displeasure. “The entrance is in the other room. The Maker will reward you for this work.” 

Hawke looked at Ketojan. “Come,” she said gently. “We’ll get you out of the city.” She gestured toward the back room. Ketojan looked at her a moment and obediently went where she indicated. The tattooed elf followed him.

The dwarf shook his head. “A night time trip through the Undercity with a horned giant. Not really how I planned to spend the evening, Hawke.” He grumbled as he moved into the back room giving the Qunari as large a berth as was possible in the small room.

The girl sighed in an exaggerated manner. “And here I thought I’d found something special we could do together like a real couple. Weren’t you saying just the other day that I was getting dull and predictable?”

“I don’t think anyone could ever accuse you of that, Hawke.” said the blond man, glancing at Varnell as he walked past. Varnell’s scowl deepened, his face a perfect mask of frustration and anger.

Obviously he had crossed paths with this Templar before, thought Anders, and obviously the Templar wanted him dead or worse, but for some reason he couldn’t do anything about it. A ineffectual Templar. His favorite kind. He couldn’t help himself. He winked at him as he passed by.

Varnell all but growled, and his hand went to his sword.

Hawke quickly moved between them, pushing Anders into the other room. “Don’t tease the Templars, dear, they bite.” She muttered to him. She turned back to Varnell looking pointedly at the sword in his hand. “Not the best course of action if you truly wish our help.” She said her hands on her hips. 

“Take the beast or don’t,” he growled furiously, “but get out of my sight, Fereldan.” 

Her eyes narrowed briefly at his words and then her mouth curved into a mischievous smile. “Don’t feel bad, Varnell.” She said patting his arm. “He turned me down too.” 

Anger flared in his eyes and he took a step towards her. The apostate (and he was certain now it was the apostate) quickly looped an arm around her waist, pulling her into the other room.

“And you accuse me of teasing the Templars?” He muttered as they descended the stairs. The girl just laughed as she pulled the trap door closed behind them.

Varnell looked over at Petrice who looked furious. 

“What is wrong with you?” She demanded. “We were to put them at ease, not threaten them."

He flushed brick red at the criticism. “The man with them. It was him. The apostate. I’m sure of it.”

For a moment she didn’t know what he was talking about, and then she remembered that disastrous night at the Chantry. It had taken every bit of skill she had to escape that one untarnished. She had pled innocence of any knowledge of Varnell’s plan and once the blame had shifted solely to him, had guilelessly suggested that perhaps permanent assignment to the Chantry would be a suitable punishment for his crime. He had proved a useful asset. She glanced at the now closed trap door. She considered what he had said and dismissed it as irrelevant. It didn’t matter if it were the apostate. The plan would proceed. She wouldn’t let his reappearance change that.

“The Maker’s will is clear then.” She said serenely.

Varnell looked at her, perplexed. She walked up to him and trailed her hand down the side of his face. 

“You yourself laid the trap that will lead the beast’s masters directly to them, did you not?” She asked.

“Yes, of course.” He said impatiently. 

“Such a group cannot hope to defend themselves against a squad of Qunari soldiers. Surely it is the Maker’s will that somehow this man is part of this group. Your apostate will be slaughtered, ripped to pieces by the Qunari, and his death will only serve to further our cause.”

Comprehension began to dawn on his face.

She continued. “A girl. A refugee. Young, beautiful, and brave. A man, tall, strong, and handsome. No one need know he is an apostate. A dwarf. An elf. Every group in the city represented. The people will be enraged. They will demand punishment for the heretical monsters that committed the crime. They will not be denied. And you and I will lead them as they demand that satisfaction.” She slid her arms around his neck. 

Automatically, his arms slipped around her waist. He bent his head and kissed her fiercely.

She pulled back her head and gave him a sly smile. “So, Ser Templar. We are not expected back at the Chantry for several hours. How shall we pass the time?”

 

Carver paced back and forth in the now empty bar of the Hanged Man. He couldn’t believe his idiot sister had taken this job, had taken it, and left him behind. What was wrong with her? 

Isabela lifted her head wearily from the table. “Carver, you might as well sit down. Pacing won’t make them return any more quickly.” She briefly considered suggesting he work off his tension in another more pleasant way but one look in his eyes told her that wouldn’t go over well at all.

“Where are they?” he demanded. “They’ve been gone for hours. What could possibly go wrong, she says. Bloody well everything, that’s what!” he ended up shouting so loudly that he woke up Merrill, who lifted her head from the bench she had been sleeping on. She pushed herself up, and looked past Carver, a happy smile lighting her face.

“Oh, good, they’re back!” 

Carver whirled around. Relief flooded through him, followed by fury. He stormed up to his sister.

“What in the Void is wrong with you!?” He shouted at her. 

“I know.” She said. “I know.” 

“You don’t take jobs without me!” he yelled.

“I know!” She she yelled back. 

Not even an argument. She looked up at him, so miserable and so contrite that he couldn’t stay mad. He grabbed her and hugged her. “You’re an idiot.” 

“I know.” She said her voice muffled in his chest. 

Isabela took one look at them and walked over to the bar, reaching behind and pulling out a bottle and four glasses. She put them on the table and quickly filled them.

Carver pulled back, holding Anabel at arm’s length. “What did you tell me when I wanted to join the army at Ostagar?”

“That you were an idiot.” He just looked at her and she gave him a small smile. 

“After that.” he said.

Her expression faltered a little. “That you would get yourself killed if you went alone and I was coming with you.”

“Exactly. And guess what? It works both ways. You got that?”

She nodded. 

He looked down at her. Her armor and her hair were both streaked with blood. She looked utterly exhausted. 

“Were you hurt?” he asked anxiously.

“Nothing Anders couldn’t fix.” She said shooting a grateful look at the mage. 

Carver looked around at the others. They didn’t look any better. 

“So what was the job?” he asked. 

“We had to take a Qunari mage out of the city. Going through the undercity.” She gratefully accepted a glass of whiskey from Isabela, and sat down at one of the tables.

“Maker’s ass. Just the four of you?” He sat down next to her. The others joined them.

“It gets better.” She said, shuddering as the whiskey went down.

“Let me guess. It was a trap.” He said. He took the bottle of whiskey from Isabela and refilled her glass.

“Oh, was it a trap. A whole Karataam of Qunari waiting for us demanding the death of the mage.” 

He had no idea what a karataam was but it didn’t sound good. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you just handed him over and left.” 

“You know me. I never take the easy path.” 

“Was he at least grateful, this mage?” 

“Oh yes. Gave me a pretty necklace as a thank you. Right before he set himself on fire and died in a blaze in front of us.” Her eyes were bleak.

“Maker’s ass. Are all Qunari insane? Why would he do that?” Carver asked.

“Something about being corrupted and his death being the only way to be accepted back into the Qun. I don't begin to understand it.”

"Of all the ridiculous, spineless, mind-controlled, senseless piece of shit arguments I've ever heard!" muttered Anders. 

Anabel smiled wearily at him. He’d been more upset about the mage than any of them. Understandably. “So you said.” She pulled out a strange dark stone on a leather thong. 

“It’s beautiful.” Said Merrill. “But how sad about the mage.”

Hawke smiled sadly at her. “Here. You take it.”

Merrill held it up to the light. Something swirled deep inside it. She looked back at Hawke who still looked sad. “Thank you, Hawke. I’ll think of him when I wear it.” 

Hawke looked around apologetically. “I’m sorry I dragged all of you into this.”

Varric patted her hand. “It’s not the first time a job’s gone to shit. Won’t be the last.” 

She pulled out Petrice’s pouch of coins and handed it to him. “Here. You have no idea how much I wanted to throw this in her face. I hope you appreciate my restraint.”

“I always do, Hawke.” he said weighing the pouch as he held it in his hand. He wouldn’t say it to Hawke right now, but it was a good take for an evening’s work. “I wouldn’t have objected if you’d roughed her up a bit, though.” 

Hawke laughed. “I did consider it, but I was a bit tired. It wouldn’t have been my best effort. Plus Aveline might have to arrest me if I took up punching chantry sisters, and I want her help with that Harimann thing tomorrow. Perhaps I’ll get the chance another time.”

Fenris, who had been silent up to that point, suddenly spoke up. “We will be hearing from that one again.” Ambition and a desire for power were things all too familiar to him. Things this sister had in abundance. 

“She doesn’t seem like the type to fade quietly away into the background, does she?” Agreed Hawke, giving him a rueful smile. 

“No.” he said shortly. He got to his feet. “I will take my leave of you.” 

“Good night, Fenris. And thank you.”

He inclined his head in acknowledgement of her thanks and turned to leave.

“Fenris.” He turned back a questioning look on his face. “I know it’s asking a lot after tonight, but would you be willing to come to the Docks with me tomorrow? It’s all right if you can’t, or don’t want to. I wouldn’t want to go on a job with me either after tonight so if you want to say no, just…”

“Hawke.” he said, interrupting her. She looked at him. “I am willing.”

She smiled gratefully. “We’ll come by in the morning, and then swing by to pick up Aveline, if that’s all right.”

“Yes.” He turned and left.

“Broody doesn’t waste words, does he?” commented Varric.

Hawke grinned. “I think you and I together waste more than enough to make up for it, Varric.”

“True enough.” Said Varric. “I’m off to sleep for at least twelve hours.” He retreated up to his suite.

Anabel looked over at Anders. “You all right?”

He gave a stark laugh. “No. I never even considered what it must be like for Qunari mages. I mean we would whisper about the things the Qunari did to their mages back in the Circle, but I never really thought about what that would mean for them.” 

“I am sorry.” Said Hawke again.

"Don’t be. You’ve given me a lot to think about. As bad as it is for mages here it’s even worse there.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Come on Merrill. I’ll walk you home.” They left the Hanged Man, Anders deep in thought, Merrill chattering on beside him.

Isabela looked at the two Hawkes. “Well, unless I can persuade one or both of you to join me in something better, I’m going up to sleep.” She looked at them expectantly.

Carver looked appalled and Hawke just laughed. “Good Night, Isabela.” she said.

“Spoilsports.” Said the pirate with a smile and grabbing the remains of the whiskey bottle she sauntered up the stairs to her room. When she was about halfway up she called over her shoulder. “I know you're watching my ass, Carver.” 

Carver blushed and Anabel decided to take pity on him. “That was me, Bela.”

Isabela looked over her shoulder, giving her an approving smile. “Now you’re just teasing, kitten.”

They watched her disappear up the stairs and they turned to look at each other.

“You know why Sister Petrice picked us for this job?” Anabel asked him suddenly.

“No idea.” He said.

“Because we were unimportant. Because we have no influence. She wanted us to be killed to show that the Qunari were a danger to the least important people in Kirkwall. And if her plan failed, so that we would be so unimportant that no one would believe our story.” She looked at Carver. “I never thought I’d understand Mother’s wanting us to be nobility, but that’s what she wants for us, I think. To be important enough that no one can make us just disappear.” She looked thoughtful. “And really, that’s what we’re trying to do, isn’t it? Become important enough that Meeran can’t hurt us, that we have enough money and clout that we’ll never be penniless refugees living in a three room hovel again.”

“Yeah. I guess it is.” He’d never thought of it that way. But in brief, that was it.

“Yeah.” She echoed. She nudged him with her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s head back to Gamlen’s.”


	16. Forgetting the Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke warns Lord Harimann of the plot to kill him, and has to deal with the consequences

They went to Hightown early the next morning to pick up Fenris, and then to the Keep to recruit Aveline for the job at the Docks. As Hawke had suspected, not killing Lord Harimann was a job Aveline was more than willingly to help them with. 

Hawke listened with a smile to Carver and Aveline bickering as they walked down the steps from Lowtown to the Docks, yawning widely as she did so. Sweet Andraste, she was tired. The sky had already been lightening by the time they’d climbed the stairs back to Gamlen’s. She’d tossed and turned thinking of the previous night's events and when she had slept her dreams had been filled with visions of fire and Qunari, and Petrice’s cold smile. She’d finally given up, having managed no more than a couple of hours sleep. She wondered if Petrice had been correct in her assumptions, if their deaths would have provoked a war, and why Petrice would even want that. Her thoughts turned again to the Qunari mage. She wished she could have talked more with him. He had been so resolute in his beliefs and had died with such unwavering dignity. She understood his death was his choice. She just didn’t understand why his death had been necessary. 

“You are preoccupied this morning.” Commented Fenris, glancing at her.

“Am I? I suppose so. I was just thinking about the …” She frowned as she tried to remember the word. “Sarbas?”

“Saarebas.” He corrected. 

“Saarebas.” She repeated carefully. “I was just thinking about the Saarebas and wondering at the certainty that drove him to do what he did. Are all Qunari like that?” she asked.

“To follow the Qun is to leave uncertainty behind.” He said.

She frowned and shook her head. “I don’t understand that. How can one choose to have no doubts, no questions?” she asked with a frown. 

“I suspect it would be beyond your abilities.” 

She glanced at him and to her surprise saw a small smile curving his lips. “Why, Fenris, was that a joke? And at my expense?” She asked in exaggerated surprise. “Will wonders never cease!”

“I am not entirely without humor.” He commented lightly.

“Apparently not.” She agreed, grinning at him for a moment before the serious expression returned. “You’ve more experience with the Qunari than I. Does it make any sense to you? Choosing death by following the Qun rather than choosing to be alive?”

Fenris considered carefully before replying. “There are many things I admire about the Qunari. Their discipline. Their order. But I have never been tempted to join them.” 

“So that’s a no then?” She teased.

“Indeed.” He said, looking straight ahead as he walked. 

She smiled again, and they continued in companionable silence. Hawke didn’t know why people found Fenris broody. She rather liked his one word responses. There was something relaxing about his reserve. She glanced at the Qunari compound as they passed the gate. She wondered what the Arishok’s opinion would be of last night’s events. She’d developed a certain respect for him when they’d met after Javaris’ job. As unforthcoming and contemptuous as he was of anything related to Kirkwall, he seemed far more straightforward than Sister Petrice. At least the Arishok didn’t mask his opinions. What little he did say was honest. She slowly stopped and turned to look back at the compound. 

“Hawke? Is something wrong?” She turned to see Fenris had stopped as well.

She paused for a moment before speaking. “The Qunari value curiosity, don’t they?” she asked thoughtfully.

“If the curiosity has a purpose, yes. Idle curiosity, no.” He glanced at the compound and frowned, looking at her again. She was starring intently at the gates. He suddenly realized her intentions. “Hawke.” he said in warning.

“Hmmm?” she said glancing back at him.

“The Arishok is not someone to be played with.” He said.

She gave him a wide eyed look. “Who says I want to play with him?”

“Hawke.” 

“Who better to answer my questions about the Qun?” She insisted. “It’s not idle curiosity Fenris. I’m trying to understand what happened yesterday.”

His frown deepened. He looked at her again. “You will not go alone?” he asked.

She grinned. “Not if you come with me.”

“ _Fasta Vass_.” He muttered under his breath. She was looking at him expectantly. “Very well.” He said.

Her lips curved in a satisfied smile. “Thank you.” She resumed walking again, speeding up when she saw how far ahead Aveline and Carver were.

They were still bickering when they caught up to them.

“I don't like some of the people you've been associating with, Carver.” Aveline was saying to Carver.

Carver scowled. “Talk to my sister. She's the one in charge.”

Aveline looked disapproving. Always putting the blame on someone else, she thought. He wasn’t going to truly grow up until he took some responsibility. She couldn’t help the glance back at Hawke though. “Who says I don’t mean her too.” She said with a small frown, thinking of that so called captain Hawke had taken to associating with. But Hawke at least tried to do good, though her methods occasionally skirted the letter of the law. Carver had been seen with some truly questionable types lately. She didn’t think he was actually involved in their dealings, but still. She turned back to him. “I’m talking about you running around on your own. This city's full of people who are dead set on ending badly. I don't want to see you end up the same way.”

Carver rolled his eyes. “Would asking you to stop spying on me help in the least?” he asked, exasperated.

“No.” said Aveline simply.

Maker, it was like he had another older sister, even bossier than the first. You’d think with her being Captain of the Guard now she wouldn’t have the time to boss him around. “I'm surprised you still travel with us, Aveline.” he said.

She gave him a stern look. “Carver, don't.” she warned. 

“You're ever so busy with the guardsmen. It must be a burden to slum with the refugees.” 

Aveline was unperturbed. “It's oddly comforting that you insult me like I'm family.” She said mildly, a small smile playing on her lips.

Carver’s mouth fell open. “That wasn't... no, I didn't mean that.” 

Aveline gave him a sharp look. “You should be glad that's how I took it.” 

“You’re not going to get the upper hand with Aveline, Carver.” Hawke called out. “Might as well stop trying.”

“Shit.” Said Carver.

They were close to the docks themselves now, nearing the warehouses that lined Kirkwall’s harbor. A dock supervisor called out to Aveline as they passed by. “You're sure you don't want a little something extra for your retirement fund, Captain?”

Aveline didn’t even pause. “That stopped with former Guard Captain Jeven, as did your extra shipments.” 

The man grinned. “Can't fault a man for asking, Captain.” He called after her.

This got him a direct look. “I can and I have.” she said shortly and continued walking. Hawke glanced back, noting the pleased look on the man’s face. Apparently some Kirkwallers approved of the way their new guard captain was handling the job.

“It’s rather fun walking around Kirkwall with you, Aveline,” she commented. “I feel almost respectable.”

“Something you could easily accomplish on your own, if you were to turn down some of the more questionable jobs you’re offered.” Said Aveline pointedly.

“The questionable jobs are usually the most fun. And look at the friends I’ve made that way.” she said looking fondly at Fenris

Fenris looked over, surprised to see her eyes on him. He frowned and cleared his throat. “We should move on.” he said awkwardly.

Hawke just laughed and then looked carefully around. “Well, that’s the Harimann warehouse. “ She said pointing. “Let’s see if we can find Gustav.” She ran lightly down the stairs.

As it turned out, Gustav was remarkably easy to find, still hiding at the docks by Lord Harimann’s warehouse, where Harriman’s men had him cornered. “Hurt him but leave him alive. We’ll find out who sent this little rat.” 

Between the four of them the guards were quickly sent running. Gustav was still cowering behind a crate. His face flooded with relief when he saw Hawke.

“You’re Hawke. I’ve seen you with Meeran. Did he send you?” he glanced nervously at Aveline in her guard’s uniform and then back at Hawke. “Harimann’s guards killed all my men. I thought I gave them the slip but they found me. Tell Meeran I didn’t turn on him.” 

He was more afraid of Meeran than of Harimann’s guards, thought Hawke with a frown.

She held out a hand to pull him upright. “You’ll tell him yourself.” He couldn’t be more than sixteen or seventeen, a straggly mustache barely covering his upper lip. “Are you hurt?” She pulled out a handkerchief and reached up, dabbing at the blood coming out of his nose. “Here, hold that there.” She instructed.

“We did it just like we was told.” Gustav babbled, his voice muffled by the handkerchief. “Followed at a distance, waited for nightfall. His rear guard saw us coming. They fell on us from all directions. I’m the only one left.”

Of course they did, thought Hawke with an exasperated frown. She had warned Meeran about this countless time. The men needed training, a plan, not just directions to a target. A well trained mercenary would have predicted what happened.

“Any true professional would have expected that.” Said a haughty voice, echoing her thoughts almost exactly. Hawke turned slowly. The speaker was an elderly gentleman, richly dressed. He was grey haired, and from the slightly greyish cast to his complexion, probably not in good health, but he had obviously been handsome in his youth. He was looking intently at her, a slight frown on his face.

Gustav started panicking. “That’s him! That’s Lord Harriman.” Hawke put a calming hand on his arm, noting that Harriman was without guards and unarmed. He’d been watching then, and decided for some reason that they weren’t a threat. Interesting.

He approached, walking directly up to her, not even glancing at the others. That in itself was unusual. People never assumed she was in charge. 

His eyes swept over her, missing nothing. They regarded each other silently for a moment, before Lord Harimann spoke. “Most of my enemies would not stoop this low. Who hired you? Are you working for Conrad Tulli? Lady Reinhardt? Lord Asheral?” 

She raised a brow at the questions. “What have you done that so many want you dead?” She asked with interest. “Most people don’t have such a ready list of people they think might be trying to kill them.” 

Lord Harriman went still at the sound of her voice. She had her grandmother’s voice. That low, melodic, almost husky voice that had given him shivers when he was a youth. He’d never thought to hear it again. So, not entirely a Hawke then, he thought. Of course there was the accent. “You sound Fereldan.” He said, just to hear her speak again.

Her chin lifted proudly. “I am.” She met his gaze unflinchingly, somehow managing to look down her nose at him in spite of his greater size. The familiarity of that look made him want to laugh out loud. Quite a bit of her grandmother in her, it appeared.

“You should know then that I’m the one who convinced the Viscount to send aid to Denerim.” He watched her closely to see how she would react to that information. 

Hawke couldn’t help flashing a smile at him, and her dimple with it. “Ah, well, that would explain why half of Kirkwall is lining up to kill you.” She said with a twinkle in her eyes. She reached up a hand to tuck a curl the breeze had blown free back behind her ear.

He couldn’t help returning the smile. She was a charming little thing, he thought. He’d been wrong when he told Sebastian she was attractive. The girl was beautiful, if one looked past the clothes, and general roughness, and of course that accent. He looked at the man with her. Those same eyes, but he had the Amell coloring and size. He could see the resemblance to Aristide. A brother and sister then. And that Fereldan woman that Marlowe Dumar was making Captain of the Guard. He dismissed the white haired elf without a thought, and turned back to the girl.

“Indeed. My fellow noblemen want me dead before the Viscount can send the money, so they can reclaim it for Kirkwall. Will you kill me for this?” 

She shook her head. “No. This is not a job I can complete. But I never intended to, truth be told.” She looked up at him. “You should be careful, Serah. The man who leads the Red Iron isn’t one to give up on a job. I’d try to narrow that list down as quickly as possible and get to the bottom of things.” 

Lord Harimann looked at her carefully. How strange that he should encounter her in such a way so shortly after learning of her existence. He hadn’t been able to find out much about her other than the fact that until recently she had been a part of the very mercenary group she was now warning him about. Aristide Amell’s granddaughter working for the Red Iron. He could only imagine his old friend’s reaction to that news. 

She continued speaking. “And thank you for the aid to Ferleden. We’re a good people, and we're hard workers, though you might consider us a rough bunch. I think your investment will more than pay off.”

“You’re quite welcome.” He said. There was something of the diplomat about her, he thought. “And thank you as well, little Fereldan. When I learn who is responsible for this I will be sure to leave you out of any retribution.” He held out his hand to her.

She tried to keep the smile off her face, and was only partially successful, giving him another glimpse of that dimple. “And don’t think I don’t appreciate that.” She said with a merry twinkle in those remarkable eyes. She took the hand he offered. 

He looked down. Her hand was small and delicate, though calloused, the nails broken and chipped. Hands that knew hard work. Her grandparents would have been horrified to see their line come to this. He surprised himself by lifting her hand to his lips and placing a light kiss on the back, utterly enchanted by the blush that came to her cheeks when he did so. He walked away considering how he might aid them.

Hawke turned back to Gustav, who was standing with his mouth open, looking at her with a combination of awe and horror. “I don’t wanna be the one who tells Meeran you did that.” He fled. 

 

That evening they were all back at the Hanged Man, though Aveline insisted on returning to the barracks after one drink to prove to the Guard their new Captain was reliable. They fell into an easy routine of cards and laughter. Anders, who was possibly the worst card player Hawke had ever seen, kept losing to Fenris. Merrill kept showing everyone her cards while asking which ones she should play, which forced them to keep dealing the hand over again.

Isabela was sitting closer to Carver than was entirely necessary, looking at him with a dreamy expression on her face.

“What?” He asked warily. She’d been unusually quiet all evening. Well, not quiet, but she hadn’t been teasing him mercilessly either.

“You look like a man I once dueled. He was a little intimated by my reputation as a vicious pirate, but rose to the challenge.” Her hand came to rest on his arm.

Carver looked interested. “He looked like me, you say?” 

Her fingers trailed down his arm to his hand. “It went on all night, under the stars, the waves lapping at our ankles.”

“On the beach? In the surf? How did you get proper footing? “ He asked trying to picture how a duel like that was even possible.

“We didn't.” She said leaning closer, her breasts pressing against him as she reached past him to grab the bottle of wine. “There was quite a bit of tumbling around, and we were soaked and sore by the time the sun came up.” She refilled her glass as she spoke.

He swallowed hard. “Did you... win?” 

She smiled lazily, leaning back in her chair. “I managed to get on top in the end, but I considered it a tie.” She took a swallow of wine and ran her tongue over her lips to catch a stray drop.

His mouth fell open. She hadn’t been talking about dueling, he realized. He scowled at her. “Why is it always about sex with you.” He griped, taking a swallow of ale.

“It's not.” Said Isabela with a suggestive smile. “Sometimes it's about sex with other people.”

Carver spat out his beer on the table in front of him.

“Carver, ewww.” Hawke protested.

Carver ignored her. “You see?” He said angrily to Isabela. “It comes up every single time we talk.”

Isabel gave him a knowing smile. “We're just talking, Carver. If it comes up, that's not my fault.” Her eyes flickered to his crotch.

“What? I mean... that's not what I meant. It... it doesn't!” 

Even Anabel was snickering into her drink. How was it she, inexperienced as she was had caught onto that before he did. Maker. Sometimes he felt like the stupidest person in the room. He glared at the pirate. “I hate you so much.”

Isabela leaned forward, showing most of her magnificent breasts, her breath warm against his cheek as she whispered in his ear. “You really don’t you know.” The tip of her tongue traced his earlobe and her hand crept down her fingers brushing against his erection. 

Carver stared at her for a moment gritting his teeth. 

She smiled coyly at him. 

“Fuck it.” He muttered suddenly. He stood, pushing back his chair and grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her up and kissing her hard, before he bent down and tossed her over his shoulder, carrying her up the stairs to her room, trying his best to ignore the catcalls, laughter and applause that followed them. 

Varric looked up. “All right. Who had tonight?”

“Ooh!” Said Merrill, looking startled. “I think I did. Did I win?” She looked from one face to the other. “What were we betting on again?” 

 

Several hours later, Hawke tried unsuccessfully to hide another yawn. She lifted her head off the table to see Anders watching her. She gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. It’s not the company, I promise. I didn’t get much sleep last night.” 

He’d thought Hawke couldn’t get any more beautiful but when she was sleepy everything about her seemed to just soften. The blue scarf she had been using to tie back her hair was loose around her neck and those magnificent curls were everywhere. All he could think of was what it would be like to wake up with her on the pillow next to him, that fiery hair spread out on white sheets. To reach over and knot his hands in it and pull her closer. He tried to direct his thoughts to another subject. “You should get some rest Hawke. You keep going like this you’re going to be worn out before you even get to the Deep Roads.”

Hawke glanced up the stairs, glad at least that the shouts and moans had stopped. That had just been embarrassing. “How much longer do you think they’re going to be up there?” she asked. 

Anders gave her a teasing look. “You know Isabela. I wouldn’t count on seeing your brother until morning.” 

“It takes that long?” She asked in surprise. “But I thought…I mean after all the noise…” Her voice trailed off and she frowned in confusion. “Aren’t they done now?” she asked stupidly.

Anders burst out laughing. Probably the first real laugh she had heard from him all evening. It had been obvious that thoughts of the Qunari mage still weighed heavily on him. 

“Oh, Hawke, they’ve probably only just begun.” He said. So innocent. She’d been in the army and the meanest mercenary group in Kirkwall and here she was blushing bright pink at the mere thought of a full night of lovemaking. 

“But…” she began and then realized she couldn’t possibly ask the questions she was wondering about. 

Anders laughed again as her cheeks turned even pinker, her confusion and curiosity evident on her face. Even Fenris had a small smirk on his face. 

She looked from one to the other and smiled wryly, pushing herself up from the table, “Well if the evening is degenerating into a game of let’s make fun of Hawke’s lack of sexual experience, I think I’ll head home.” She retied the scarf in her hair as she glanced up the stairs where Varric had disappeared a short time ago with one of his informants. “Tell Varric I said good night.”

“Let me walk you back.” said Fenris. 

“No need. You just got back from taking Merrill home. Finish your drink, I’ll be fine.” 

Moments after Hawke had walked out the door, Varric came down the stairs looking grim, Bianca on his back. “We may have a problem.” He said. He looked around. “Where’d Hawke go?”

Anders frowned at the alarm in his voice. “She got tired of waiting for Carver and went home.” It wasn’t unusual. Their uncle’s house was just around the corner.

“Shit!” said Varric running towards the door. Fenris and Anders exchanged a quick look before jumping to their feet and running after him. 

 

Anabel walked out of the Hanged Man by herself, heading back to Gamlen’s. She couldn’t stop thinking about what Anders had said. All night? Contrary to what everyone seemed to think, she wasn’t a complete innocent, she knew what the basics were, she’d grown up around enough farms, but she just couldn’t see how that could be dragged out into an all night activity. 

As she passed the alley next to the Hanged Man, she heard a voice. “So, Gustav limped back here but won’t say a word about what happened. Spit it out. Is Harimann dead or not?” Meeran was leaning against the wall, his face hidden in the shadows. 

Hawke looked at him. He was alone. She lifted her chin and walked towards him. 

Look at her, he thought. Unafraid. More than unafraid. Unconcerned. He felt his anger grow. She didn’t even consider him worth worrying about.

“Not.” She said simply. There was no point in pretending. She didn’t need Meeran’s money that badly. “He’s being hunted for helping Fereldans. I’m not going to kill him for that.” She kept her voice cool, but her heart was pounding.

Meeran stared at her for a moment. “You know you’re not getting paid.” He said tersely.

That proud look again. “I don’t expect to be.” She said simply.

He looked at her for a moment and then nodded his head. Relieved he seemed to have taken it so well, she turned to leave. 

As soon as she did, Meeran grabbed her from behind and threw her against the wall, slamming her so hard against the side of the building that the breath was momentarily knocked out of her. Stupid, Hawke, she thought. You never turn your back on the enemy. He held her pinned her there, his hand at her throat. She struggled to free herself, and his hand tightened on her throat so that she was soon struggling just to breathe. She managed to land a kick on his shin, but little else. He grabbed a handful of hair and yanked her head back, so that she was forced to look at him. 

Meeran pressed in close. “I think you forgot the rules dog lord.” His face was mere inches from hers. “Once you take the job, you do the job. You don’t decide if it’s right.” He yanked her forward and then slammed her back again, and this time her head hit the stone with a sickening crack, and she fought a wave of nausea. He hauled her up again, and took her face in one of his meaty hands, forcing her to look at him. “I’ll take care of Harriman myself.” He moved his mouth up by her ear, “And then you and I have some unfinished business.” He leaned in closer, his rancid breath hot on her skin, and ran his tongue up the side of her face. She shuddered in disgust. He saw it and shoved one hand between her legs grabbing her crotch, smiling at the look of panic in her eyes. The sound of a crossbow being loaded behind him made him freeze. He pulled back to see Hawke’s companions, the dwarf, the elf, and that Darktown healer. Too many, he thought, and he didn’t want to piss off the Merchant’s Guild by messing with Bartrand Tethras’ little brother. He let go of Hawke so abruptly she fell to the ground. Anders ran to where she lay.

“We’re not done, Hawke.” Meeran warned, pointing at a finger at her. He turned and stalked away.

“Hawke, are you all right?” Anders asked. He pushed her hair, which had come unbound again in the fray, out of her face trying to get a good look at her. He could already see the bruises forming on her throat. Varric and Fenris crouched down next to them. 

She looked up at Anders willing him to come into focus. “I’m a little dizzy.” She admitted trying to steady herself. “Meeran tried to knock some sense into me.” She said, attempting to joke. “Using the wall.” She gingerly touched the back of her head, and felt wetness there. There was blood on her fingers when she looked at them. “Ow.”

“Come, let’s get you back to Varric’s suite, and I’ll take a look.” Anders pulled her carefully to her feet and immediately the world swayed alarmingly. 

She staggered and went pale. “I think I’m going to be sick.” She managed to get out before bending over and retching. Anders quickly pulled her hair back. She straightened up and wiped at her mouth. The dizziness wasn’t any better. She closed her eyes as the world swayed sickeningly again. She clutched at Anders’ shoulder in an attempt to remain upright, succeeding only in pulling out a handful of feathers. “Sorry about that.” Her mouth couldn’t seem to form the words properly and they came out slurred together.

Shit, thought Anders, supporting her as she slumped against him. How hard did that bastard throw her? “Fenris, hold her up.” The elf didn’t question him but slipped his arm around Hawke supporting her in a surprisingly gentle hold. 

Anders took her face in his hands. “Look at me Hawke.” he ordered. 

His voice seemed to be fading in and out. She tried to focus, wincing and trying to pull away as he summoned a wisp and looked carefully in her eyes. The pupil of her right eye took up nearly the whole of her iris. His heart clutched in dread. Concussion. A bad one. He heard Fenris curse as Hawke unexpectedly collapsed. Anders caught her easily as she fell, picking her up and carrying her quickly back to the Hanged Man, and up the stairs to Varric’s suite, Varric and Fenris hurrying to open doors for him. 

He laid her down on Varric’s bed. Her eyes were closed. He slapped her face lightly. “Hawke! Stay awake!” he said loudly. No response. She was unconscious. He had to work fast.

“Get Carver.” He heard Varric say. 

Anders sat on the bed beside her and shifted her to an upright position leaning her against his chest, cupping her head in his hands, sending of tendrils of magic, trying to find the source of the bleeding. She felt so small in his arms. It was so easy to forget how little she was when she was brashly leading them around Kirkwall. 

Carver came bursting in, half-dressed, Isabela running in after him. He charged up to the bed. “Anabel! What happened?”

“Meeran.” Said Varric simply. 

“Who in the void let her leave by herself!?” Carver shouted. Maker, he was screwing Isabela and Anabel was getting attacked. 

“Quiet! Get back.” barked Anders. He was suffused in pale blue light. 

Carver let Isabela pull him away from the bed. He stood there whispering to himself, probably unaware that he was speaking out loud. “Don't you die on me. Not after all this. You'll be alright. Damn it. You'll be alright.” 

Come on, thought Anders as he searched, trying to still the panic he was feeling. He could feel Hawke fading, her customary glow diminishing each second. Come on, he thought desperately. To his surprise, Justice was there suddenly, aiding him, helping him, and for a moment he felt like his old friend, before they’d merged. His support gave Anders the boost he needed to find what he’d been searching for. There. He gritted his teeth at the feel of it. If the first time he healed Hawke had been unpolished marble, this was a series of jagged boulders. He shifted her in his arms, holding her tighter blocking out everything but the two of him as he sent his magic into her. He lost track of all time as he repaired the broken vessels, the fracture in her skull, waited for the swelling to subside. Relief flooded through him as her glow brightened slowly but steadily. He felt her begin to stir and pulled back to look at her, the stiffness in his arms and back making him realize just how long he had been working on her. Her head fell into the crook of his arm. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with confusion. The pupils were back to normal. He sighed in relief and smiled down at her. “Welcome back.” he said.

“My head hurts.” She said in a small voice.

“I’m not surprised." Anders commented. He laid her gently on the pillow and stroked the hair back from her face. “Rest, Hawke. A day or two at least. In bed.” He ordered.

She frowned at him. “You look horrible.” She said in concern. 

He laughed weakly. He felt horrible. He hadn’t drained himself so thoroughly in a while. 

“I’ll take her home.” Said Carver. He looked at Anders. “Thank you.” Anders just nodded. 

“Not Gamlen's.” Anabel protested weakly. “Mother and I would kill each other. “I’ll get a room here.” 

The others exchanged glances, none of them willing to leave her alone. 

“You can stay here, Hawke.” said Varric decisively. “Plenty of room in my bed.” The others just looked at him. “Oh, you know I didn’t mean it like that.” He said.

Hawke’s eyes closed and she seemed to drift off. The others retreated to the main room of the suite. 

Carver ran his hands through his hair, and started pacing back and forth. “I’m gonna kill him.” He said.

“You should have told me, Junior. You both should have.” Varric actually sounded angry.

“She didn’t want me to. Shit. I should have killed him when it first happened.” His voice was filled with self-recrimination. Isabela laid a comforting hand on his arm, but he shrugged it off.

“What’s going on? Hawke mentioned she had an issue with her former employer but this seemed like more than just an issue.” Said Anders leaning on the edge of the table. He looked from Carver to Varric, but it was Fenris who answered him.

“Meeran attempted to rape her when she was still working for him. She outsmarted him and escaped.” He said simply. 

“She told you?” said Carver in surprise, looking at the elf.

“She was very drunk at the time. I doubt she even remembers it.” His voice was composed as always but Fenris was seething inside, cursing himself for not having insisted on walking her home.

“You left out the part where she kicked him in the nuts, nearly drowned him in a bathtub, and then left him tied to a chair to be discovered by his own men.” Said Varric. 

“You know about all that?” Asked Carver.

“I do now. And if I’m hearing about it from informants, it won’t be long before the story’s all over Kirkwall.”

“Shit.” 

Isabela, looking grimmer than anyone remembered ever seeing her before, suddenly asked, “It’s been weeks since this happened. He’s been giving her job after job. Why attack now?”

“Because I screwed up and gave him a reason.” 

They turned to see Hawke standing there looking much too pale, leaning against the wall. “Lord Harimann.” She explained. “I was supposed to kill him. I let him go. Now Meeran’s got a legitimate reason to come after me. He couldn’t before without the story of what I did getting out. All these jobs he’s been sending my way. He was just waiting for me to get killed, or screw up. Either way I’d end up dead.” Her eyes were bleak. She looked incredibly vulnerable standing there, her hair tumbling down around her.

Anders got to his feet. “Bed, Hawke. I meant it when I said it.” 

She made no objection as he guided her back. She paused to shrug out of her armor and boots, climbing under the covers clad just in her shirt. She watched him as he smoothed the covers around her. “You really do look awful. You need lyrium.” She said. “And you should rest too.” 

His head was throbbing, but he couldn’t help smiling at her. It was such a Hawke thing to do. Receive a life threatening injury and immediately worry about someone else. “I’m sorry, which one of us is the healer again?” He asked lightly. “Anyway, I’m staying here tonight. I want to check on you every couple of hours. Head injuries can be tricky. ” 

“Who would have thought a head as hard as mine would be so easy to crack?” She joked feebly. He brushed her hair away from her face and frowned when he saw the bruises from Meeran’s fingers on her throat. He stroked his hand down, using the last bit of mana he had to heal them. She caught his hand and held it to her cheek. “Thank you. I’m glad you aren’t mad at me anymore.” She’d hated those weeks he wasn’t speaking to her.

He smiled at her. "And who says I’m not still mad?” He asked. 

She smiled back. “Me. You think I’m too cute to stay angry with me.” 

Her words were truer than she knew. He ran his thumb over her cheek. “Well, you are pretty cute.” He said lightly, pulling his hand away as Varric came up behind him.

“Norah's making up the room next door for you Blondie. It’s one thing to share my room with a beautiful woman. It’s another to share it with you. I’ve got a reputation to maintain, you know. “ He pressed something into Anders’ hand as he spoke. 

Anders looked down to see a lyrium potion. He looked at the dwarf in surprise. “Is there anything you can’t get a hold of, Varric?” The dwarf just gave him an easy smile.

“Come on Carver, you can stay with me.” Said Isabela. “You’ll be just down the hall.” She reminded him when he started to object. 

He went over to Anabel and pressed a kiss on her forehead. “Don’t you do that to me again, you hear? And don’t worry about Meeran.”

“I won’t. I’ve got a gang now.” She said looking at them all affectionately. 

Isabel moved next to Carver, and he slipped an arm around her as they left the room.

Fenris got to his feet. “I will return in the morning.” he said.

“Thank you, Fenris.” Hawke said gratefully.

He paused at the doorway, looking as if he wanted to say something more, but just inclined his head and left. 

It was a few hours later when Varric finally climbed into the bed. Anders had already been in twice to check on Hawke. She stirred as the bed moved.

“Sorry. Hawke.” Said Varric. “Go on back to sleep.”

In a few minutes he was snoring lightly. 

Hawke lay there, her back to him, suddenly wide awake and only able to think about Meeran’s hands on her, slamming her into the wall, his breath on her, his hands groping at her. She tried to hold back the tears, but then she started shaking uncontrollably. She tried to hold herself still, reprimanding herself for being silly. It was over, so why was she suddenly being so feeble? 

Because it could all happen again, and worse.

She curled up into a tight ball trying to hold herself still, not wanting to wake up Varric, but the shaking just got worse. 

Varric shifted suddenly next to her and pulled her into his arms holding her securely. “It’s not going to happen Hawke. None of us will let it happen.” He said simply.

She hesitated for just a moment and then clung to him tightly. He didn’t say anything more, just held her, stroking her hair or rubbing her back. Eventually the shaking subsided, and he could feel her relaxing. He thought she had fallen back asleep, when she suddenly spoke.

“Varric?” she said sleepily. 

“Hmm?” he said still stroking her hair.

“Will you tell Bianca thank you?” 

“For what, Hawke?” he asked.

“For lending you to me for an evening.” 

Varric smiled into the darkness. “She’s happy to do it, Hawke. Sleep now.” 

She snuggled in closer, enjoying the tickle of his chest hair on her nose, and was soon fast asleep.


	17. A Day of Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hawke is forced to rest, and inexplicably almost everyone is playing with her hair. I have no idea how or why that happened...

Anders woke up with a start the next morning, confused for just a moment as to where he was, before the events of the previous night came flooding back. He let his head drop back to the thin pillow and looked up at the ceiling. He’d been having the strangest dream. He’d found Pounce living in the Kirkwall Chantry of all places, but when he’d tried to pick him up to take him home, Pounce had hissed and scratched him, leaping out of his arms to run and hide behind the statue of Andraste. Justice had been there too, proclaiming Pounce a 'faithless creature' and a 'tool of the Chantry', which didn’t make any sense. Justice had always liked Pounce. He was sure it all meant something profound, but he had no idea what. He probably should have paid more attention to his classes on the fade and dreaming, instead of spending class staring at the rather impressive bosom of Enchanter Ilona. 

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and sat for a moment trying to wake up. It hadn’t been a particularly restful night. He’d checked on Hawke several times (more often than he really needed to, if he were entirely honest). One time he’d found her sound asleep, but clinging tightly to Varric. Varric had been awake though, gently stroking her hair.

“Do you have to wake her up, Blondie? She only just fell back asleep.” He’d asked quietly.

Looking closer, Anders had seen that her cheeks were tear stained. “No, I can check her without waking her.” 

He’d put his hand gently on her head and sent out a brief pulse of magic confirming that everything was working the way it should be. He’d let his hand linger on the bright curls. “Is she all right?” He’d asked Varric. She’d looked so fragile lying there next to the dwarf. 

“Yeah. I think it all just hit her at once. Even Hawke gets scared sometimes.” Varric said. “But I guarantee you, Blondie, we won’t see a sign of it in the morning. I don’t know whether it’s impossibly brave or a little sad.” 

“Why sad?” Sad wasn’t a word he readily associated with Hawke.

“That she doesn’t think she can let people know she’s vulnerable.” 

He thought about that for a minute as he sat there. She might not show it but last night had proven she was vulnerable. He still felt a flutter of fear when he thought about how close he had come to losing her. He wasn’t quite sure how she had fixed herself so firmly in his heart in just the short time he’d known her but after last night there was no denying that she had. He pushed himself to his feet. He was going to make sure she followed his orders and rested today. He dragged his coat on and stepped out into the hallway.

He heard her before he saw her, singing under her breath, as she so frequently did. His mouth opened in surprise as he recognized the song -- a bawdy Fereldan ballad that he’d heard frequently at the Crown and Lion during his time in Amaranthine. It was absolutely filthy, and he strongly suspected that Hawke didn’t understand half of what she was singing. He frowned as he realized the singing wasn’t coming from Varric’s rooms. He moved to the top of the stairs, and sure enough, there she was, coming up the stairs holding a large pitcher of hot water, dressed in shirt and trousers, but barefoot, her hair loose and tumbling everywhere. Unbelievable. It was barely light out and she was already ignoring his order to stay in bed.

She stopped singing when she saw him, and smiled brightly. “Good Morning. What are you doing up so early? You should be resting after the way you drained yourself yesterday.” she said.

To look at her you’d never know anything had happened the night before. Varric had been right.

Her smile faltered when she saw his grim expression. “Is everything okay?” she asked uncertainly.

“What part of a day or two in bed, didn’t you understand? Did you miss the you’ve suffered a life threatening injury portion of the evening?” he demanded loudly.

“I just went downstairs.” She protested.

“Which does technically make you out of bed, doesn’t it?” He asked sarcastically. He should have expected she’d be that sort of patient. 

“I had to go down to the kitchens, I needed hot water. I have to wash my hair.” She explained.

“You couldn’t have asked Norah to bring it up?” He asked.

“Norah’s not even up yet.” She protested.

“Then you wake me up. You, however, stay in bed.”

“I wasn’t going to wake you up. You exhausted yourself last night.” 

And you nearly died, he wanted to shout at her. His mouth fixed into a firm line. “Bed, Hawke. Now.”

“I have to wash my hair.” She insisted.

“BED!”

Carver stuck his head out of Isabela’s room. He frowned when he saw the two of them standing there. “What’s going on?” 

“Your sister is incapable of following orders.” Anders answered not taking his eyes off Hawke.

“You only just figured that out?” asked Carver. He rubbed his hand through his hair, yawning and frowned at Anabel. “I thought you were supposed to stay in bed today.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine. Go back to sleep, Carver.” She said. He just grumbled and closed the door. They heard Isabela’s voice, low and sultry, and Carver’s answering growl, and then a series of squeals. 

Hawke smirked at Anders. “See what you started?” Now I’ve got to listen to that all over again.”

He grabbed the pitcher from her hands. “Bed!” He pushed her in front of him towards Varric’s rooms.

“I’m sorry, are you supposed to be manhandling someone who’s just suffered a life threatening injury?” She asked looking up at him, her dimple dancing at the corner of her mouth.

“So help me Hawke.” he said torn between frustration and relief that she was feeling well enough to be this sassy.

“Shh…you’ll wake Varric.” She cautioned as she walked into the suite. 

“You might have thought of that before the two of you started shouting in the hall.” Said Varric, emerging from the bedroom fully dressed. 

“Anders is very cranky this morning.” She informed Varric, taking the pitcher from Anders and putting it on the table.

Varric gave the mage a knowing look. “That might be because he was in here checking on you all night long.”

Her eyes flashed up to Anders. “Were you really?” She asked, her face softening as she looked at him. She reached up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You should have been resting, you silly man. But thank you.” 

He was lost for a minute in the warmth of those amazing eyes. “How’s the head?” Any pain?” 

“I’m fine.” She said waving her hand airily. 

He folded his arms over his chest. “Not what I asked, Hawke.”

“Nothing bad.” She assured him.

He frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “So that’s a yes, then?” He mentally moved Hawke into the “difficult” column in his patient roster. He was beginning to agree with Varric’s assessment. Hawke wasn’t about to admit any sort of weakness, no matter how detrimental to her own health it might prove to be.

“I don’t think I’d call it a headache, even.” She said. “More of a twinge or a twang.” She walked over and pulled a basin and towel off Varric’s dresser. “Varric, do you have soap or shampoo? Something I can use to wash my hair?”

A twang? What did that even mean? “Come here.” He said beckoning her over. She sighed but walked over to him. He tilted her face up to the light. Her pupils were fine. He sent out a small tendril of magic. Everything seemed fine. Still, he wasn’t going to take any chances.

“Come on. Back to bed.” He ordered.

Hawke looked mutinous. “I need to wash my hair. It’s got blood in it. It’s disgusting.” 

He looked at her, weighing the exertion of her washing her hair with the exertion of her arguing about washing her hair. “If I help you wash you hair do you promise to stay in bed for the rest of the day, no arguments?”

“I don’t need help.” She protested.

“If you want to wash your hair, you’ll take the help. Or you just get into that bed.”

She gave him a penetrating frown, as if trying to decide how serious he was. “Fine. I’m not unreasonable.” She said finally. “You can help me wash my hair.”

Anders just snorted. “Oh, thank you so much, my lady.” 

Varric handed her a flask of shampoo and hoisted Bianca on his back. “I’m going to check with a few people I know, see if I can get of sense of things. I’ll send Norah up with some breakfast.” 

“Thanks, Varric.” She called after him. She put the shampoo down next to the basin and started unlacing her shirt. She looked up as if suddenly remembering that Anders was standing there. Her hand hovered above the ties.

He gave her a questioning look. “Something wrong?”

“Um…I usually do this on my own and without a shirt on.” To her chagrin she could feel her cheeks growing pink.

He tried to keep the smile off his face. He leaned back against the table. “I assume you have some kind of undergarment on under that.” he said gesturing at her shirt.

”Well, yes.” Her cheeks turned pinker.

“I am a healer Hawke." He reminded her. "Unless there’s something you haven’t told me yet, I’m fairly positive you don’t have anything I haven’t already seen.” 

“Yes. Of course. You’re right.” She still made no move to take off her shirt. She looked up at him. He was watching her with a knowing little smile, obviously entertained by her inhibitions. “Oh stop smirking.” She said and tugging the laces loose she pulled the shirt off over her head. 

The smirk faltered a bit as the whole of her torso was revealed. His eyes went from pert breasts to slender waist to gently flared hips, took in the flawless white skin, the way gold locket she wore nestled in the small valley between her breasts.

Exquisite. That was the only word for her. He could even forgive the utilitarian cotton breastband, though it just made him want to see her in something in silken or lacy. Hawke’s shirt suddenly hit him in the face.

She was scowling at him, her cheeks now bright pink. “You’re staring. I thought you’d seen it all before.”

He couldn’t help smiling, feeling like a child caught at the cookie jar. “Right, sorry. It’s just rarely presented in such a perfect package.” 

She looked at him suspiciously, trying to figure out if he were teasing her. 

He noted the wary expression. It was a crime how unused to compliments she was. “I like the necklace. Is it a family piece?” he asked, to distract her. 

Her hand went immediately to the locket. “No. It was part of the payment for taking out the Flint Company mercenaries.” Her thumb ran over it. “I don’t know why I still have it. I should sell it to fund the expedition.” It was obvious that was the last thing she wanted to do.

He walked over and picked it up from where it lay, looking at it more closely. It was beautiful. An antique, obviously, and the workmanship was exquisite. He let it go. “You should keep it. It suits you."

“Do you think so?” She looked pleased at his words. “It’s selfish I know. I never really had any jewelry. Well, you know what life’s like on the run. Anything of value gets traded for food and supplies.”

“I do.” He said. She should have had a normal life. Been able to wear pretty things, have pretty jewelry, and dozens of admirers. Her father may have been a free apostate, but his family had paid a price for it. He felt Justice begin to stir, and gave himself a mental shake. Today Hawke, not the plight of mages and their families, was the priority, no matter how much Justice might grumble. “ So how do you usually do this?” He asked gesturing to the basin and shampoo. 

She looked deliberately thoughtful. “Well, usually I put the basin on a table, bend over and pour water over my head, spilling a lot of it, then I generally get a lot of soap in my eyes, curse a bit and rinse it, out while spilling even more water.” 

He couldn’t help smiling. “Doesn’t sound terribly efficient.”

“Oh, believe me it isn’t. I’ve considered chopping it all off more than once.” 

“Don’t.” he said before he could stop himself. 

She looked at him in mock horror. “Cut my “one beauty” as Mother puts it?” She put a towel down on the table and placed the basin on top of it. “I wouldn’t dare.”

He moved the pitcher closer to the basin and motioned her over. “I really must meet your mother one day. I think she’s in dire need of an eye exam from a reputable healer.” Hawke couldn’t help laughing as he slipped off his coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves.

“Bend over.” He instructed.

“Aren’t you supposed to buy me flowers or dinner first?” She asked archly.

“Behave.” 

She just laughed, and leaned over the table, flipping her hair forward. He willed himself to not be distracted by the suddenly revealed line of her back or thoughts of taking her bent over like this. Hair washing. Right. He tried to gather all her hair together and get it in the basin. “How in Thedas do you manage this on your own?” he asked. 

She just laughed the sound muffled from under all her hair. “I told you. I make a big mess and curse a lot.” 

He lifted the pitcher and poured some water over her hair and then pulled the stopper out of the shampoo and poured some into his palm. It smelled of freesias and orange blossoms with just a hint of something more sensual that he couldn’t quite identify. Perhaps something from the more tropical zones in the north that he wasn't familiar with. He ran his hands through her hair working up a lather.

“Maker, that smells amazing.” She paused for a moment, breathing in the scent. “It’s a bit girly for Varric to have just lying around, isn’t it?” she asked.

“He probably uses it for something unwholesome involving Bianca.” He said dryly. Hawke giggled that wonderfully throaty giggle of hers. He ran his hands over her skull gently massaging her scalp, taking special care around the site of her injury. She let out a low moan. 

“Did I hurt you?” he asked quickly.

“Andraste’s sweet ass, no. It feels amazing.” She said. “If you ever decide to stop healing you could get work doing this. In a hairdresser's. Or maybe a brothel.

He smiled to himself. “It’s good to know I’ve got options.” He said wryly. He had been about to rinse out the shampoo but he kept massaging her scalp instead.

“Oh yes.” she sighed. Was she agreeing that he had options, or saying yes to the massage, he wondered. One small hand reacheded out in front of her as she stretched into his touch. She was practically purring. Maker, she was a sensual little creature, he thought. If she responded this way to just have her hair washed.... He once again dismissed that line of thought. It could only be trouble. Time to end this. He picked up the pitcher. “Close your eyes.” He instructed, pouring the water over her hair, stroking his fingers through the locks, trying to get all the soap out. She arched into his touch again, like a small cat, and her shapely rear brushed lightly against his groin. The effect was instantaneous. The hand holding the pitcher jerked up, splashing water carelessly.

“Ow. Shit. Shampoo in my eye.” She flailed about for a towel managing to upset the basin of water, and then slipped on the spilled water, grabbing Anders to catch herself, and ending up bringing them both down on the floor. The pitcher fell on top of them, the remaining water soaking Hawke’s trousers.

“Fuck. Where’s the towel.” She was laughing and cursing at the same time and Anders couldn’t help joining in, as he grabbed the towel and carefully wiped at her eyes.

“I told you.” She said, still laughing and blinking reddened eyes at him. “Water everywhere, and a lot of cursing.” She pushed herself to her feet.

"And foolishly I didn't heed your warning." He rose, putting the basin and the pitcher on the table and turned to Hawke. She had unbuttoned her trousers and was pushing them down over her hips. 

His mouth fell open. “What in Thedas are you doing?” He managed to get out.

“My pants are wet.” She said as if it were obvious. She draped them over the chair, and then bent over and grabbed the towel and began sopping up the spilled water.

Exquisite, he thought again. There just wasn’t a better word for her. Even the unbleached cotton smallclothes suddenly seemed unbearably erotic. She seemed to have gone from excessive modesty to none at all in an instant. Or maybe she was taking his glib _I’m a healer I’ve seen it all_ at face value.

“Maker have mercy.” He muttered under his breath. He swallowed hard, watching her ass move back and forth as she cleaned the spill. Unable to take it anymore, he stalked over and pulled her to her feet, grabbing her shirt from the table and shoving it at her. “Clothes. Bed. Rest. Now.” 

She looked up at him, those huge blue green eyes utterly perplexed. Andraste help the men of Kirkwall if Hawke ever realized what she was doing, and started doing it intentionally, he thought. “Now.” he repeated.

“Bossy.” She muttered, but she slipped the shirt over her head. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Instead of getting into the bed, though, she started rummaging through Varric’s toiletries. He could just see a hint of the curve of her bottom at the hem of her shirt.

“Bed!” he shouted.

“I need a comb.” She insisted.

“So help me, I will tie you to that bed if I have to.” And that had been entirely the wrong threat to use if he were trying to calm himself down.

She rolled her eyes, but climbed obediently onto the bed. He tossed the covers over her and turned back to Varric’s dresser, searching for a comb, willing himself to stop thinking of Hawke’s delectable body lying in bed mere feet away from him.

There was a knock at the door. “Thank the Maker,” he muttered under his breath. “Come in.” He called. 

Norah entered carrying a tray and followed closely by Fenris. He looked relieved when he saw Hawke was awake.

“You’re up early as well.” Said Hawke with a smile, smoothing the covers around her lap. Anders turned from Varric’s dresser and tossed a comb at her, before he stalking over to the tray Norah had left, grumbling under his breath the whole while. 

What on Thedas had set him off, Hawke wondered, frowning. She turned back to Fenris, who was looking at her intently. 

“You are well?” he asked carefully.

“I am.” She said with a reassuring smile. “No ill effects at all.” 

Fenris nodded. He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, then looked over at Anders to make sure he was occupied. “Hawke. I wish to apologize.”

“What in the world for?” She asked, as she tried to yank the comb through her hair.

“I should have escorted you to your Uncle’s home.” She had aided him when he needed it, but when she had needed protection he had failed her.

“Fenris, I told you not to walk me home. If it’s anyone’s fault it’s mine.” She tugged at a particularly stubborn knot, and only succeeded in tangling the comb in her hair.

“I should not have listened to you. If I had been with you, you would not have been injured and…” His voice trailed off as he watched Hawke literally tearing her hair out of the knot. “ _Fasta vass_. Hawke, stop.” He pushed her hands away and sat on the bed beside her. In no time at all he had untangled the snarl and freed the comb, but much to her surprise, instead of handing it back to her, he turned her so her back was to him, and began carefully combing through the curls. “If this is how you care for your hair I wonder you have any left.” He said grumbling, as he worked through another difficult snarl. Working from the ends of her hair up to the crown he carefully combed the tangles from it. 

Hawke sat there almost afraid to move. Fenris was combing her hair. Fenris. Prickly, antisocial, lethally dangerous Fenris. Of all the unexpected things that had happened in the past day, this was one she could never have predicted. 

Anders turned from the tray with a plate full of food and his mouth dropped open. He blinked, certain he was imagining it. Beauty has tamed the beast, he thought. Hawke caught his eye and shot him a warning look. He smirked but remained silent. 

In no time at all Fenris had finished. He looked up to see Anders quickly wiping a smile off his face, and he stood, scowling, awkwardly holding the comb in his hand.

“Are you finished already?” Asked Hawke, sensing his unease. “Where were you when I was a child shrieking at having her hair brushed? Here, give me that.” She said taking the comb from him. “Why don’t you get yourself some breakfast?” she suggested.

Relieved that she hadn’t made a fuss about his entirely inexplicable actions, Fenris went quickly over to the tray, piling food he had no desire to eat on a plate just to cover his confusion. He had no idea why he had done that, why he had combed Hawke's hair, but the action had felt strangely familiar. He had done it before, he knew it. But for who? The answer hovered, tauntingly, just beyond his reach. As he did every day, he cursed Denarius and the ritual that had taken his memories.

 

By the time Varric returned with Merrill in tow, Carver and Isabela had joined them and the breakfast was well underway. Hawke lay in Varric’s bed propped up by pillows surrounded by the others.

“You getting crumbs in the bed, Hawke?” asked Varric laying Bianca carefully down on the table.

She just grinned at him. “Only on your side.” She said tucking her hair behind her ears. It had dried into a riot of soft fiery curls reaching almost to her waist.

“Varric said you were injured Hawke, but you look fine." Commented Merrill. "Like a queen holding court, but instead of a crown you have your hair. It looks very pretty. You should wear it down more often.” She clambered on to the bed next to Hawke and ran her hands over it.

“I think it would just get in the way, but thank you Merrill. I have to say it’s received unprecedented and unexpected attention today.” Said Anabel with a teasing look at Fenris and Anders. Neither could meet her eye. 

“Oh it looks pretty when you have it up too.” Merrill reassured her. “But you always just wear it in a braid or in a bun. There’s all sorts of other styles you could put it in.” She looked suddenly hopeful. “Oh, Hawke, could I?’

She looked so eager that Hawke couldn’t refuse, though eying Merrill's many small pony tails she almost wished she could. “Of course Merrill. Have at it.” She scooted forwards on the bed and Merrill climbed up behind her and began nimbly dividing her hair into sections. 

Hawke looked carefully at Varric, who was leaning nonchalantly against the table watching her. “Did you find out anything?” she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. The room got suddenly quiet waiting for Varric’s answer. Carver left Isabela's side and came to sit beside Anabel. She gave him a small smile, reassured by the familiar feel of his bulk next to her. They both looked at Varric expectantly.

The dwarf nodded. “I did. Good and bad. Which would you like first?”

“Bad.” She said without hesitation.

Varric took a sip of coffee. “Well, Meeran’s definitely out for blood, and not bothering to hide it any more. Word’s out that the Red Iron has failed to carry out the contract on Lord Harimann twice now. Meeran’s blaming you.”

“Of course he is.” Said Hawke with a heavy sigh.

Varric continued. “Also, thanks to you, Lord Harimann now knows about the contract, and has hired so many guards that Meeran won’t be able to get near him.”

She grimmaced. “It just gets better. I should write Lord Harimann a note, and let him know what’s going on.”

Varric nodded. It never hurt to have a powerful nobleman on your side. “I can have someone run it over to him.”

“So what’s the good news?” demanded Carver impatiently from his sister's side. 

“Well, the story about the incident in the baths is also making the rounds. Rather quickly in fact.” He smiled knowingly. 

“And how many people did you have to pay off to get that happening.” Asked Hawke with a knowing look.

“Fewer than you’d think. A lot of Meeran’s men hadn’t heard your side of the tale until quite recently. A surprising number are unhappy with Meeran. They liked working with you. Respected you. They don’t approve of what he did. Some have even parted ways with the Red Iron because of it.”

Hawke looked surprised. “Really?” She looked at him thoughtfully. “So on a scale of one to ten, how screwed am I?” she asked.

“One being that Meeran forgets all about it and ten that he devotes himself exclusively to your bloody and painful demise?”

“I don’t know if I would have put it quite that way, but sure, why not.”

Varric took a sip of coffee as he considered the question. “I’d say about a seven.” 

She winced. 

“But I’m working on it Hawke.” he reassured her. “The tale of the beautiful refugee, forced to take up mercenary work, protecting herself from the lecherous advances of the hardened mercenary leader. That’s a story everyone can get behind. By the time I’m done, Meeran will have to leave you alone if he wants to do any business at all in Kirkwall.”

“And what do we do in the meantime?” asked Carver. 

“We do not leave Hawke alone. Ever.” Said Fenris shortly.

“Exactly.” Said Varric. “Sorry Hawke. You don’t walk out that door without someone with you.” 

Her mouth fell open. “That’s ridiculous! Even during the day?” she protested.

“For now, yes.” Said Varric.

She looked rebellious and opened her mouth to protest, but was cut off by Anders. “You’re not going anywhere for the next couple of days anyway, so it’s not something that we need to argue about right now, is it?” He said looking pointedly at her.

She made a face. "Fine." she said. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. She wasn't about to admit it to the others, but it had been sort of nice just lounging around in bed. Maybe, she could get used to it.

 

By early evening she was ready to stab something.

“I’m so bored.” She called out, staring up at the ceiling. 

“I thought you were reading Isabela’s book.” Said Anders from the table at the other side of the suite.

“Yes, well there’s only so much of Hessarian’s Spear you can read before you start to worry about being struck by lightning.” She clambered to the end of the bed trying to get a glimpse of him without leaving the bed. 

After she’d snuck out of bed for the fifth time, Anders had renewed his threat to tie her to it, and Isabela had eagerly offered a set of red velvet restraints. Instead, Carver had gone to Gamlen’s and brought back Boy, who was now on guard next to the bed. Carver, Isabela and the red velvet restraints had disappeared into Isabela's room. Anabel shuddered not even wanting to think about that, or the noises that had come from down the hall. She was happy for them, of course, but she'd be far happier if they could just learn to be quiet. 

Anders seemed to be writing. She slid one leg off the bed and Boy growled in warning. She shot him a dirty look, but pulled the leg back on the bed. “What are you doing?” She asked.

Anders frowned and looked down at what he’d been scribbling. “It’s nothing. Just an idea I’ve been working on. I’ve been meaning to try and get it down on paper.” Not a platform, he thought. It made it sound like he was running for office. A declaration, maybe?

“Play cards with me.” Called Hawke from the other room. 

“I have no money to lose to you.” He said absently. A testimony? No, that made it sound like something from the Chantry. 

“We don’t have to play for money. I could teach you. Give you some tips.” 

“You mean you could teach me to cheat.” A proclamation. No, that made it sound like he was announcing the winner of the best squash at the harvest fair.

“I know how to cheat, but with you I don’t have to.” She taunted. He didn’t answer. She sighed. “Tell me a story.” She demanded.

“What are you, five years old?” He asked.

“Apparently so, since I can’t be left without a babysitter.” She grumbled.

He just smiled. She was a horrible patient, as he’d suspected she would be. He should have realized how much of a punishment forced inaction would be for someone as active as Hawke. He didn’t see how he was going to be able to keep her resting tomorrow. Luckily, she was doing remarkably well, and he probably wouldn’t need to.

When Anders didn’t answer her, she crept to the end of the bed again, on her hands and knees. What was he doing out there? She leaned too far forward trying to see him and lost her balance, tumbling off the edge and onto the floor. Boy started barking wildly.

Anders immediately appeared in front of her, arms folded over his chest.

She looked up at him from the floor. “I slipped that time, really.” She insisted.

He scoffed. “Right. Bed.” 

“Boy, you traitor, you.” She said, as she climbed back onto the mattress. Boy simply barked happily, pleased at having done his job well, and lay down wagging his tail.

Anders sat on the side of the bed. “I refuse to believe you’re this much of a child, Hawke. So what’s going on?"

She shifted restlessly. “I've got too much time to think. There’s someone who wants me dead and I can’t do anything about it. I have to just sit here. I need to not be thinking about it. I need to be distracted.” Her eyes were pleading. “Could you take a break from writing for a bit? Just talk to me for a little while?” The words came out almost unwillingly.

After what Varric had said, he should have realized. "Of course, Hawke.” He cast about for a topic, and his eyes lighted on Boy.

“How is it that you, creative as you are, named your dog “Boy”?” asked Anders as he pulled back the covers for her. 

“I didn’t name him. Carver named him.” She climbed under the covers. 

“How did Carver end up naming your dog?” 

“Boy’s not my dog, he’s Carver’s, aren’t you Sweetie.” Boy barked happily. She looked up at Anders. “Carver found him in the Kokari wilds, injured and half starved, just after Da died. We’ve no idea how he got there.” 

“But he’s usually with you. I thought mabari stayed with their masters.” Then he remembered the Warden Commander had said she had a mabari, and she’d left him back in Denerim with the King. What did he know about Mabari? He was a cat person.

“No, he’s usually with whomever Carver tells him to watch. Most of the time we were with the Red Iron he was with Mother, watching out for her.” Of course thinking of the Red Iron made her think of Meeran.

He quickly steered her away from that thought. “So what would you have called him?”

“I wanted to name him Razikale.” She said with a smile.

He'd expected Calenhad or Garahel or some such romantic name. “Razikale? After the Old God?” 

“The Old God of Mystery.” She corrected. She leaned over and scratched the dog behind his ears as his tail thumped happily on the floor. She looked up at Anders. “I mean what’s a purebred Mabari doing in the middle of the Kocari Wilds? So, call him after a god of mystery. It’s probably just as well I didn’t get to name him. I don’t think having a mabari named after an old god would have been a good thing during a blight.”

“Probably not.” He agreed. 

Most people didn’t even know the names of the Old Gods, much less what they represented. Hawke had the most eclectic set of knowledge, he thought. Of course she read anything she could get her hands on. 

“Is there a reason I have to hear about your being injured from one of my guardsmen instead of from you?” Aveline stood in the doorway scowling, her hands on her hips. 

"Oh, crap." said Hawke under her breath. She opened her mouth to answer, but Aveline didn't give her a chance. 

“You had to provoke Meeran, didn’t you? The first time we met him I warned you about that.” She pointed an accusing finger at Hawke.

“You’re really going to take this opportunity to say I told you so?” said Hawke arching an eyebrow at her.

Aveline turned abruptly to Anders. “How bad was it?” 

He glanced at Hawke, before turning back to Aveline. “Very bad.” He said flatly.

“Anders!” Hawke looked betrayed.

“Sorry, sweetheart. The fact you won’t admit it doesn’t change it.” 

“Very bad.” Aveline repeated. “So, yes, I’m going to say I told you so.” Aveline looked at Anders. She honestly still wasn’t quite sure about him, but from what Carver had said, he had saved Hawke’s life yesterday. “I’ll stay with her. Why don’t you stretch your legs for a bit.”

Anders pushed up from the bed and Hawke grabbed his arm. “You’re not going to leave me alone with her, are you? She’s scary.”

“Well, you did say you wanted to be distracted.” Anders commented with an easy grin.

Aveline looked carefully at Hawke after Anders left. “What in the Maker’s name have you done to your hair?” she asked. Hawke’s hair was done up in an elaborately braided coronet. It looked beautiful, but formal and fussy and very alien on Hawke’s head. 

“Merrill was playing with it.” Hawke explained glumly. “I’m afraid if I try and take it down I’ll just end up tying my hair in knots.” 

Aveline pulled off her gauntlets and sat down next to her. “Do I need to arrest him?” she asked gruffly as she started disassembling Merrill’s careful work. 

“Meeran?” Hawke asked. She shook her head. “No. That would just cause difficulties for you. He’s got too many higher ups on his payroll. Varric’s working on some things.”

Aveline scoffed. “Anything I’m going to have to arrest Varric for later?”

Hawke laughed. “I couldn’t guarantee it, but I don’t think so. I think what he’s doing might fall under the heading of public relations. Nothing requiring the guard’s involvement.”

Aveline worked quietly undoing Hawke’s hair. “So how long are you out of commission?” She asked after a few minutes

“Today and possibly tomorrow. Why do you ask?”

“I’ve heard about a job that would suit you. It calls for discretion. You can be discreet, can’t you?” She asked looking carefully into Hawke’s face.

Hawke laughed up at her. “With great effort and only if the situation calls for it.” 

“The Viscount’s son’s gone missing. Last seen out on the Wounded Coast. Senschal Bran is looking for someone to retrieve him.” 

“Missing by his own choice, or someone else’s?” asked Hawke.

Hawke always did see straight to the heart of the matter. “There seems to be some disagreement on that point. He has a habit of wandering off and exploring on his own.”

“I like him already.” Said Hawke. “How old is he?”

“Sixteen or seventeen, I should think. He’s a good lad. Too self-contained, and left on his own far too much. His mother died when he was little more than a babe, and the viscount’s left his upbringing to the servants. Bran’s got it into his head that if he hires the shadiest mercenaries to find the boy somehow it won’t get out that he’s missing.” She’d finally managed to unweave the largest braid from Hawke’s hair. How Merrill had managed to secure this much hair, this intricately, without using hairpins was beyond her. It must be a Dalish thing. She made quick work of the rest of the braids and coils, and ran her fingers throught the curls. She envied Hawke her curls. Let out of its pony tail, her own hair just sort of lay there, flatly. In contrast, Hawke’s hair seemed almost alive. She separated it into three sections and began plaiting it into a single thick braid. “Well, when Anders says you’re up to it, come see me. But only when Anders says so.” She emphasized.

“Why is everyone treating me like a child, today?” asked Hawke in some exasperation. 

“Because when it comes to looking out for yourself, you behave like a child.” Aveline said without hesitation.

Anders came back into the suite, and paused in the doorway looking at Aveline in surprise. “The Captain of the guard gossiping and braiding hair. That’s a sight you don’t see every day.” 

Aveline gave him a disapproving look but finished the braid and then got to her feet, picking up her gautlets as she did so. “I’ve got to return to the barracks.” She paused at Anders’ side and giving him a careful look. “Make sure she takes care of herself.” She said in the same tone she used when giving orders to her guards.

“That’s far easier said then done.” He commented. 

Aveline looked over at Hawke. She looked ridiculously small sitting there cross legged in the middle of the bed her long braid over one shoulder. “Don’t I know it.” She muttered, and stalked out of the room. 

Anders watched her leave and turned back to Hawke. He crossed the room to the bed and sat down beside her. “Much better.” He commented, indicating her newly braided hair.

“Thanks.” She said absently. She eyed Anders speculatively. “What are the chances that you’ll let me out of bed tomorrow?” she asked.

He should have expected this. “That would depend very much on what you were planning to do once you got out of bed.” He said.

“Aveline’s heard about a job. Just a search party. A wandering teenager, who needs to be fetched back home. Nothing strenuous.” Her tone was deliberately casual. Well, Aveline hadn’t said it was strenuous. That was almost the same thing, wasn’t it? She wondered if she needed to mention the job was on the Wounded Coast. No, she decided, he'd just worry. And besides, she could handle anything the Wounded Coast could serve up. She’d take Carver and Varric with her, and Merrill, who always enjoyed getting out of the city. 

He could see her already planning out the details of the job. “Well, considering how exhausting it’s been trying to keep you in bed today, I’d say the chances are pretty good. No more twinges?” he asked carefully.

“Not a one.” She insisted. 

He sat down next to her looking at her carefully. She seemed to be doing well. He’d have preferred to keep her in bed for another day, but doubted he’d be able to anyway. The job she’d mentioned sounded innocuous enough, and Aveline knew she’d been injured. She wouldn’t have suggested it if she thought Hawke would be at risk. Retrieving a teenager. Probably from a brothel or gambling hall, bringing him back to his worried mother in Hightown. The sort of thing Hawke could do with one hand tied behind her back. 

“All right.” He agreed. “As long as you take things easy, and don’t over exert yourself, tomorrow you are a free woman.” He was rewarded with a brilliant smile. “But...” he cautioned, “Just Aveline’s job. Nothing more than that. And then I want you back here, resting.”

“Of course.” She said with wide eyed innocence. “Just Aveline’s job.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy is actually Carver's dog in this AU. I just never felt the same connection with Dog in Dragon Age II as I did in Origins, and would in fact frequently forget that I could have him with me. So Carver gets a dog. I like to think having a mabari imprint on him has added to his sense of self worth.


	18. An Unexpected Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After rescuing the Viscount's son, Hawke is offered another solution to her problems, and Carver has a sudden revelation about his sister.

_He doesn’t hear me._

Hawke had thought Saemus Dumar was exaggerating as most boys of his age were prone to do when he’d said that of his father. 

He hadn’t been exaggerating in the slightest, she thought now, as she listened to Saemus trying to get through to his father, and his father brushing his words aside yet again. 

Her head was pounding, and she suspected that it was from more than the argument going on in front of her. She only hoped that a well timed healing potion would stop it getting any worse. If she had to go to Anders and confess her little excursion to the Wounded Coast, he probably would tie her to the bed this time. In hindsight, she probably should have given herself more time to heal, but in her defense she really hadn’t expected she’d end up fighting an entire mercenary group, or that their leader, Ginnis, would be a greedy, bloodthirsty lunatic. She suddenly realized the Viscount was speaking to her.

“I was told the Winters had involved themselves.” He was saying, a worried frown furrowing his brow. “Was there no way to avoid an incident?” 

She wondered what his reaction would have been if Ginnis had brought Saemus back tongueless, as she’d been threatening to do when they’d found him. Listening to the Viscount, she suddenly had a much better understanding of how it was the Templars held so much power in the city. The man was more concerned with avoiding incidents than solving problems.

“I’m afraid not.” She said simply.

“They murdered my friend.” Saemus exclaimed. “Where is your concern for that?” 

His father looked irritated. “I thought you had been captured while foolishly traipsing around the coast as you do.” 

“I wasn’t captured.” Saemus said yet again, his frustration plain on his face. “I was with my friend, Ashaad, the Qunari.” His father seemed almost to shudder at the word. 

Saemus saw it, of course. “They are not the monsters to be feared.” He insisted vehemently. 

She liked Saemus. They’d talked on the trip back from the Coast, about the Qunari mostly. She’d shared stories about her conversations with the Arishok, and had even told him about the Saarebas, though she’d left out the Chantry’s involvement. He had told her a bit about Ashaad, how he admired the Qunari’s sense of purpose and lack of doubts. After just a few minutes of listening to Saemus’ father she understood why it appealed to him.

But Saemus, to his credit, didn’t give up trying to get through to the Viscount. “If you would just try to understand, others would see as well.” He pleaded. 

The Viscount seemed horrified at the mere thought of embracing such a radical notion. “Better that you were thought abducted than to have others suspect their influence in my own house. Benign or not, it’s just too much.” said the Viscount growing more agitated. 

“Well that’s just foolish.” She said, unable to keep quiet any longer. “Listen to your boy. He’s making sense!” 

Apparently they had forgotten she was standing there. There was a moment of stunned silence as almost everyone stared at her, open mouthed. Shit. Was she ever going to learn to keep quiet? She watched as a slow smile spread across Saemus’ face, and she couldn't help smiling back. 

Seneschal Bran turned almost purple and began sputtering his outrage. “That is quite enough!” He turned to the Viscount. “My apologies, Excellency for this intrusion into personal matters…the effrontery. Just, move.” He was waving his hands around and was in such a state she had to struggle to keep from laughing. He literally pushed them out the Viscount’s office practically crackling with outrage all the while. She managed to give Saemus a wink as she passed him. 

In the reception room Aveline was glaring at her, and Carver was chortling. She wasn’t quite sure if it was because she’d insulted a noble, or because she’d been publicly reprimanded for it. Probably both. 

Seneschal Bran was looking at her as if someone had just forced him to smell something unpleasant. 

She gave him what she hoped was a contrite look. “Sorry.” 

He appeared completely unmollified by her halfhearted apology. “I’m impressed with your skill, Serah. Less so with your tact.” He sniffed as he handed them their reward, and quickly withdrew into his office closing the door firmly behind him.

Carver started laughing out loud as soon as the door was shut. She was having trouble keeping from doing the same until she turned to face Aveline.

Acting Guard Captain Aveline Vallen, standing there glaring, her arms crossed over her chest. 

She quickly wiped the smile off her face, and tried the same remorseful look she’d used on Bran. It was equally unsuccessful with Aveline. “You know I didn’t mean anything by it.” She said trying to preempt the lecture.

“Did I really just stand there and hear you call the Viscount of Kirkwall a fool?” Aveline demanded. 

“In my defense, he was being foolish.” Hawke pointed out.

Aveline just scoffed and stalked out the door, Hawke and Carver hurrying to catch up with her. They walked into the main hall of the Keep, past the crowds of people petitioning for an audience with the Viscount.

“Hawke, if you have any hope of getting ahead in this town you need to be more careful in the future. This could have been a real opportunity for you. Now? Now you’ll just be that Fereldan refugee who called the Viscount a fool.”

“I said he was foolish, not that he was a fool, and I did manage to get the job done. I think that’s what they’ll remember once they get over the shock of my awful manners.” 

Aveline sighed. “I hope you’re right. You need to think before you speak Hawke. You mean well, but your mouth is going to…has gotten you into trouble that’s entirely avoidable.” 

Hawke’s head was still pounding. “Believe it or not, the same thought had occurred to me. I have every intention of keeping my mouth shut. I just haven’t managed to put it into practice, is all.” She rubbed her forehead gently.

Aveline noticed immediately, of course. “Are you all right?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a healing potion stashed back in that fancy office of yours, would you? We went through all of ours with the Winters.” 

Aveline frowned as she looked at her. "Is it your head?" 

Hawke nodded briefly. "Not sure I should have been pounding mercenaries quite so soon."

Carver looked worried, and then angry. "I thought that mage knew his stuff. Why'd he let you take this job if you weren't healed yet?" he demanded

Hawke squirmed uncomfortably. “I might not have mentioned it was on the Wounded Coast when I told him about it.” She snuck a peek at her companions. Oh, yes, she was going to hear about this, she thought, taking in their outraged expressions.

Carver spoke before Aveline could. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he asked loudly.

Several nearby nobles glared at them, appalled. She was saved from further reprimands by someone calling her name.

“Serah Hawke.” Thank the Maker, she thought as she turned to see who it was. 

Lord Harimann was walking towards her, elegant as before, but now flanked by several guards. 

She could have kissed him for his perfect timing. She smiled and walked over to him feeling Carver’s and Aveline’s glares burning at her back. “Lord Harimann. You received my note?”

“I did.” He was struck again by her prettiness, even in scuffed leather armor. “Thank you for letting me know the situation had changed.”

“Oh, there’s no need to thank me.” She said easily. 

“I had been meaning to contact you myself, actually. I wanted to invite you to dine with me, as a thank you for your actions at the Docks."

“That’s very kind of you, my lord, but entirely unnecessary. After what you’ve done for Fereldan I should be cooking you dinner.” She said with a smile. “Though given my somewhat limited culinary skills that might be considered more of a punishment.”

He should have found her lack of deference offensive, but he didn’t. It wasn’t a lack of respect he realized, just an innate informality she possessed. Only a small circle of contemporaries ever spoke to him in such an easy manner. “Then it’s probably best that we dine out, don’t you think? It would be my pleasure. Shall we say this evening at the Golden Stag?” He wondered at the look of apprehension that suddenly appeared.

The Golden Stag was the most renowned dining establishment in Hightown. She could just imagine the reaction if she walked in wearing her second hand leathers. “There’s really no need.” she said awkwardly.

“Nonsense.” He said with a frown. 

People probably didn’t turn down his invitations very often, she realized. “I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be appropriate.” 

His frown deepened. “Humility doesn’t suit you, my dear.”

Her chin came up proudly. “It isn’t humility, my lord. Quite the opposite. What you see me wearing now is my best attire. It obviously isn’t suitable for an establishment such as the Golden Stag.” She stared him straight in the eye, almost daring him to comment.

That wasn’t possible, surely. He looked at her. Somehow this revelation disturbed him almost more than all the other things he had learned about the girl. He thought of his own daughters and granddaughters with their closets overflowing with gowns in silk and satin, and their brains devoid of anything of import. And here was this girl, who had grown up with nothing, who had nothing, and yet seemed possessed of unlimited bravery, skill, intelligence, and charm. “I see.” He thought for a moment. “I had planned to reserve a private room in any event.” He said finally. He hadn’t, but that was easily arranged. “Your attire is unimportant. One of my guards will fetch you. Alfred,” he called over his shoulder. 

“Yes, my Lord?” Answered one of the men, immediately appearing at Lord Harimann’s side. Not armored she noticed. A manservant then, not a guard. 

“This is Serah Hawke. She is to be my guest tonight at the Golden Stag. Arrange an escort from her home.” A double purpose in that. She couldn’t avoid the invitation, and that Red Iron thug wouldn’t touch her. “I will see you tonight, my dear.” He bowed and walked away before she could protest any further.

She stared after him, and then looked at Alfred who for a moment looked as perplexed as she was, though he quickly composed himself when he saw her looking at him. “Serah Hawke. Where shall I send the escort?” 

He spoke to her as if she were one of Hightown’s finest instead of a ragamuffin in used leathers. A smile played at the corner of her mouth. “The Hanged Man. Near the Lowtown market.” she said. 

Alfred didn’t even blink at the name of Lowtown’s most notorious tavern. “Very well, Serah. Shall we say at the Vespers bell?”

Whatever Lord Harimann was paying him it wasn’t enough, she thought, trying to hide her smile. She nodded her acquiescence and turned back to Aveline and Carver. Still furious. She sighed, resigning herself to the lecture, and anticipating the lecture from Anders. At least she would have a nice meal to look forward to. 

 

Her ears were still ringing when she and Carver walked into the Hanged Man almost an hour later. Aveline had whisked her away to her office, handed her a healing potion, watched while she drank it and then she and Carver had lectured, reprimanded, and shouted, for a good twenty minutes. She glanced up at her brother, his mouth in a grim line, fists still clenched. Yup. Still not talking to her. She looked around. No sign of Anders. Maybe no one had ratted her out to him. She breathed a sigh of relief at that.

“I’m going to go up and lie down for a bit.” She said to Carver.

“You do that.” He said, still not looking at her, and walked over to Isabela at the bar.

Great. She trudged up the stairs. The healing potion had helped, but her head still hurt, and she was utterly exhausted. She walked into Varric’s suite and closed the door behind her.

“I hear you had a busy morning.” Said Anders. 

She turned to see him sitting at the table, his chair facing the entrance. Waiting for her then. She slumped against the door. 

“Are you going to yell at me too?” She asked in a small voice.

“Would it do any good if I did?” he asked getting to his feet and walking over to her.

She managed a weak smile. “Apparently not.”

He put his hands on either side of her head and she felt the now familiar coolness of his magic. “I’m sor…”

“Hush.” He said and he worked in silence for a few moments. When he was done he didn’t let go of her head, instead tilting her face up to look at him. “You are too careless of your own safety. You are not invulnerable. You are not unbreakable. You almost died the other night. Your injuries nearly killed you. It took every bit of skill I have to keep that from happening. I almost failed. Do you hear the words I’m saying?”

She nodded and he deliberately ignored the tears that were welling up in her eyes. 

“You almost died.” He repeated. “If I give you advice it’s for a reason. If I ask you not to exert yourself it’s for a reason. Got it?”

She nodded again, completely chastened by his words, and he dropped his hands to his sides. Her hand swiped quickly at her eyes. That had been so much worse than the yelling. “I’m sorry.” She said.

“I know.” He said, still unsmiling.

“I’m going to go lie down for a little while.” She said gesturing at the bed.

He nodded. “I’ll be in here.” He turned back to the table.

“Anders.” 

He turned back to her. 

“I’m supposed to have dinner with Lord Harimann tonight. Is that all right?” She looked utterly woebegone and he couldn’t maintain the remoteness he’d been feigning any longer.

“Dinner here in Kirkwall, right? You’re not planning an a la carte meal on the summit of Sundermount or anything?” he asked dryly.

Her lips twitched. “No. At the Golden Stag in Hightown, actually. I wouldn’t go, but he could be a useful ally, and I shouldn’t offend him.” 

He watched her carefully. She seemed genuinely contrite. “Don’t make it a late night, and no more than two glasses of wine.” 

She gave him a grateful smile and turned towards the bed, shrugging out of her jacket and kicking off her boots before climbing under the covers.

He shook his head. He had a feeling ensuring Hawke’s wellbeing was going to be a full time job.

 

Lord Harimann was waiting when she was escorted into the private room. The proprietor downstairs had looked quietly horrified when he saw her, but Harimann’s guard hadn’t even paused, leading her through the main dining room to the private rooms upstairs. 

He greeted her, noting with pleasure the care she had taken with her appearance. Yes, it was still the leather armor, but it had been polished to a dull gleam, as had her boots. She had tucked a teal scarf that brought out the color of her eyes at the neck of her jacket. Her hair was pulled smoothly back into a thick coil at the base of her skull, though even now, a curl or two was escaping. In the right clothes she would be magnificent, he thought.

She looked curiously around the room, smiling almost shyly as she saw he’d caught her doing so. “I’m sorry. I’m gawking, I’m afraid. I’ve never been in such a place. It must be wonderful to always be surrounded by such beautiful things.” 

He looked around as if noticing the room for the first time. He supposed it was beautiful. “I’m afraid I take it quite for granted.” He admitted.

“That’s a pity.” She commented looking at the red velvet draperies, the glassware and silver on the rich brocade tablecloth. A many branched silver candelabra was on the table, with a few more on the sideboard, casting a soft glow throughout the room. “It’s lovely.”

He watched her carefully, admiring the way the candlelight reflected off her bright hair. “I’m glad I can see you appreciating it in any case. Please, sit. May I offer you some wine?”

“Yes, thank you,” she said, sliding into the chair he held out. She looked at the silver laid out before her, and was suddenly grateful for her mother’s lessons in etiquette. 

“You had a busy day today, rescuing young Saemus Dumar.” He said handing her a glass goblet. “You’re beginning to make quite a name for yourself in Kirkwall.”

She laughed at the thought. “I’m afraid I was less than tactful in my dealings with the Viscount. I doubt Seneschal Bran will let me within one hundred yards of him in the future.” 

“And what is your opinion of our Viscount.” If he had expected an awed response about meeting the ruler of the city he would have been disappointed. 

“I admit I’m perplexed by the Viscount’s attitude. He seems to yield to the will of others rather than following his own.”

“That isn’t necessarily a flaw in a ruler.” He pointed out.

“Not at all.” She agreed. “But in the Viscount’s case it seems to render him ineffective. He yields to the Knight Commander where the refugees are concerned. He yields to the fears of the nobles where the Qunari are concerned, but at the same time his fears of offending the Qunari has led to an established Qunari compound in the middle of Kirkwall. He seems more worried about holding the throne than actually doing anything to aid Kirkwall. He tries to please everyone, and seems to be pleasing no one, and so accomplishes nothing.” 

She was certainly free with her opinions, he thought, but he couldn’t disagree with her assessment. “And what of young Saemus?” 

She smiled. “I like him. He thinks before he speaks. He forms his own opinions rather than following the crowd. And he’s open minded. I only hope that doesn’t change as he gets older.” 

This was certainly a different opinion from what he usually heard. Whenever he personally had encountered the boy he’d been sullen to the point of rudeness. “He doesn’t show much interest in his role as the Viscount’s heir.”

She looked thoughtful. “I think he’s of a different mold than his father and he’s struggling to remain true to himself. He’s trying to make himself heard, which from what I saw this afternoon is an uphill battle. But he’s determined. I think he might surprise you. He’ll be a different sort of viscount than his father, but that might not be a bad thing.” She took a sip of wine before continuing. “Of course the way Viscount Dumar inherited the throne probably has something to do with the way he rules. The Knight Commander all but put him there, didn’t she?” 

“She did.” He said and found himself telling her the story of Perrin Threnhold’s overthrow. She listened attentively, and asked many questions, all of them intelligent and well thought out. 

“You seem quite well informed about Kirkwall’s history.” He commented.

“My mother is originally from Kirkwall. She made sure we knew the basics. I’ve tried to learn more since we settled here, to better understand the city and how it works. I’ve managed to find some books on the subject, but not as many as I’d like.” 

“You’ve read Brother Genitivi’s accounts, of course?” He asked. That was usually all anyone read.

“Of course. Though I always find myself wishing he included more facts and fewer anecdotes about his dinner.” She said with some dissatisfaction. “One reads his books and comes out knowing nothing of Starkhaven’s history or politics but everything about what goes into their famous fish pie.” 

He couldn’t help laughing. There weren’t many who dared criticize the beloved Brother’s books. “Very true. You might try Philliam’s Orlesian Legacy if you’re interested in the earlier history. He put together a collection of the speeches of the first viscount of Kirkwall.” 

Her eyes lit up. “Michel Lafaille? I’d be very interested. Kirkwallers don’t seem to readily accept outsiders, yet even now Lafaille is well respected, in spite of being an Orlesian appointed by the Emperor during a time of occupation.” 

She seemed as excited by a book as most women were about jewelry or a pretty dress. “Ah, but Lafaille saved the city from an even bigger threat.” He reminded her. 

“So all I’d have to do to be truly welcomed here is thwart a Qunari invasion?” She said with a twinkle in her eyes.

He couldn’t help smiling. “Is that so much to ask?”

She laughed merrily in response. “Apparently I’m doomed to remain an outsider.”

Charming, he thought once again. “I can recommend some booksellers whose wares you would appreciate, I think.”

“I’m certain I would appreciate them, but I’m afraid my funds don’t extend to such luxuries.” She said with regret.

He frowned again. “Yet you seem very well read.” 

A mischievous smile curved her lips. “Ah, yes. May I make a confession? And trust to your honor as a gentleman that what I tell you will remain between us?” she inquired with a slight tilt of her head. 

“You have me intrigued now.” He nodded his acceptance. “On my honor as a gentleman.” He promised.

“I borrow books. One might even go so far as to say I steal them. Temporarily, of course.” 

He looked delighted. “Do you really?”

She just smiled and stood, reaching into her back pocket and pulling out a small exquisitely bound book. She handed it to him. The Llomeryn Accords. He looked up at her confused.

“Open it.” She told him.

He opened the book and saw the name inscribed inside and began to laugh. “How in the world did you manage this?”

“I’ve picked up some rather unorthodox skills in the past few years.” She admitted. 

He looked at the book in his hands and started laughing again.

“I will give it back, of course. After I’ve read it. With any luck I should have it back before Seneschal Bran even notices it’s gone.” She gave him a careful look. “Now, I hold you to your promise that you won’t turn me over to the guard.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He said, handing the book back to her. He was more entertained than he had been in years. There was a knock on the door and at his command a trio of waiters entered carrying in their meal.

He continued to enjoy himself as the meal progressed. He discovered she was well read, intelligent and amusing, and despite her rough appearance, her manners were exquisite.

When they had finished, the staff cleared away the dishes, and left them to their Antivan brandy. She smiled warmly at him. “Thank you for this. It was very kind of you and entirely unnecessary.” She was surprised at how agreeable the evening had been.

“It was my pleasure, my dear. I’ve enjoyed myself immensely.” He took a sip of his brandy and carefully placed it back on the table. “But that brings me to another matter I wanted to discuss with you.” He watched her closely. “I understand your actions at the Docks have caused some difficulties with the Head of the Red Iron.”

“Meeran?” She shook her head. “No. My problems with Meeran began months ago. My actions at the Docks merely accelerated things.” 

“But he is a danger to you.” 

A shadow passed briefly over her face. “Yes, I’d have to say he is. One I think I can overcome, but yes.”

No bravado, no boasting. How pleased Aristide would have been with her. “I believe I might be able to offer a solution to your difficulties.” He looked at her carefully. When he had invited her to dinner he had still been undecided about proceeding with this course of action but the pleasure he’d taken in her company in the last two hours had convinced him. “I am a person of some standing in Kirkwall. Were you under my protection this Meeran wouldn’t be able to touch you.”

She frowned, not certain she understand. “Under your protection? Do you mean if I were to work for you? As a guard or something?”

“Work for me in a manner of speaking, yes, but not as a guard.” He leaned back in his chair. “My daughter and her family currently reside with me in Hightown. The arrangement is proving less than ideal.” A vast understatement. “I’ve been contemplating signing the mansion over to them and setting myself up in a smaller household. However, I would require someone to run this household. From what you say, your mother has trained you in such skills.” 

“So you require a housekeeper?” She asked.

“Not merely a housekeeper.” He paused for a moment, considering how best to proceed. “My wife passed away some years ago, and of late I’ve found myself missing feminine companionship. The relationship would extend to…other areas.”

Other areas. She suddenly realized what he meant and felt herself begin to blush. With her fair skin there was never any hiding it. “I’m not a prostitute Lord Harriman.” She said stiffly. 

“If you were we would not be having this conversation, I assure you.” He said shortly, and then continued in a more gentle tone. “I’m not looking for a prostitute. While sexual relations would certainly be part of our arrangement, I am primarily seeking a companion. Someone with whom I could hold an intelligent conversation, on a variety of subjects, someone to make my home a little less sterile and to ensure that it ran smoothly. In return for your companionship, I would set your mother and brother up in their own home, also in Hightown of course, and sponsor your brother in an occupation of his choice, establishing him as a person of consequence in Kirkwall. I would enable them to live as befits an Amell.”

“I see.” Said Anabel. She stared at the tablecloth in front of her. As befits an Amell. How many times had her mother said those words since they’d come to Kirkwall. Lord Harimann had taken her completely unawares. She wondered what Mother would make of this offer and quickly decided she really didn’t want to think too closely about what her Mother would do to have her Hightown status back again. She wondered if she should be more offended than she was. It had been presented in such a businesslike manner that it was difficult to summon outrage. To be perfectly honest she had never considered that this would be an option for her.

For a moment neither of them spoke, and when Lord Harriman finally did his voice was kind. “I’m an old man, my dear, and I’m not well. In all likelihood our arrangement would last no more than a year or two. The physical demands of your role would not be frequent.”

“Why me?” She asked. “There must be any number of women more attractive, more cultured, and far better suited to such a role.” 

“You underestimate yourself. You are intelligent, well spoken and delightful to be with. Add to that you are quite beautiful. Or you could be if someone were to provide you with the right care and clothes. As I could.” He smiled a little as he looked at her. “You also have a certain…unpredictability that I find quite charming. Who would not want to spend their final years with such a person? And in return for the gift of your company I will keep you safe from that thug Meeran. I will make sure your brother has a place and a future in this town, and that your mother is restored to her former position.” 

He made it sound so reasonable, so logical, so easy. 

He watched her carefully as she looked down. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, worrying it gently. She looked impossibly young suddenly. 

After a moment she looked up and met his eyes. “Thank you for being so forthright, my lord. I should be equally frank in return, as regards the physical aspects of such a relationship.” Maker, she thought trying to figure out how to say what she need to. She took too large a sip of her brandy and only narrowly avoided choking on it. “I haven’t....I don’t have much…that is…I’m not experienced in such…relations. I doubt I would be able to satisfy you in that way.” She was tripping over her tongue. Her mother’s training in proper conversation had certainly never extended to this topic. 

Lord Harimann was simply staring at her. She felt herself blushing even more, but refused to lower her gaze. 

He raised one eyebrow. “Do you mean that you’ve never?” He said just to confirm he hadn’t misunderstood.

“No.” She said quickly before he could finish. “I haven’t.” 

Lord Harimann looked away, shaking his head in disbelief. “What is wrong with young men today.” He said more to himself than to her. He looked back at her, considering whether this made her more appealing or less. Surprisingly, the answer was more. He must be entering his dotage. He’d never had any interest in virgins before. “No matter. The offer still stands. You need not give me your answer tonight. Take a few days to think on it.” He stood, carelessly dropping his napkin on the table. “One of my guards will escort you back to your home.” 

He watched from the window as she left. The dinner had been a test of course, and she had surpassed his expectations by far. It was a tragedy that her background precluded her from a better future. Without the stigma of her mage father, and the scandal of her mother’s elopement she would have been the catch of the season. He would have fought to marry her to either of his grandsons. A tragedy. But if she accepted his offer he would do all that he could to make a place for her in Kirkwall. He could do that at least for the granddaughter of his friend. 

 

The Harimann guard who escorted Hawke back to Lowtown was silent and efficient, which was just as well as Hawke’s head was still spinning. She needed to talk with someone about this. She stopped in front of the Hanged Man. “Here is fine.” She said. “Thank you for escorting me.” The guard bowed his head respectfully and left her there.

She ignored Isabela and Carver standing by the bar, and walked straight up to Varric’s rooms. He looked up from his papers as she flung herself into a chair and put her feet on the table, frowning. 

“Hawke. Something bothering you?”

She tilted the chair back on two legs and looked up at the ceiling. “I just had the strangest conversation with Lord Harimann.”

Varric looked expectantly at her.

“Well first off, you were right. Apparently it’s now common knowledge that Meeran’s out for blood.”

Varric seemed unsurprised. “What did Harimann offer?” He asked.

She looked at him flabbergasted. “How did you know he offered anything?”

“Please Hawke. Elven urchins, remember?”

She sighed. “He offered to keep Meeran away and sponsor Carver in a career of his choosing, as well as enough coin to take care of Mother ‘as befits an Amell’.” She frowned suddenly. “He knew my family were Amells.” 

“It wouldn’t be hard to find out if he’d made inquiries.” Said Varric. “What did he want in return?”

She was still utterly perplexed by this. “Well. Me.” 

He noted her confusion and hid a smile. She really had no idea how desirable she was. He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his chest. “What are you going to do?” 

She tilted back the chair and looked up at the ceiling. She rocked forward and then back again. “It would be the sensible solution to our problems.” She admitted looking over at him.

“So some would say.”

“He’s not unattractive. He’s kind.”

“True.”

“He’s intelligent.”

“So I’ve heard.”

She let the chair fall forward with a thud. She rubbed her temples. Her head was throbbing again, but she didn’t think it was from her injury this time. “What’s wrong with me that I find the idea of a trip to the Deep Roads more appealing than being a rich man’s mistress?” she asked him.

“Who’s being a rich man’s mistress.” Carver asked as he walked in the door. 

She scrambled out of the chair, but couldn’t quite meet his eye. He looked at Varric. “Dwarf?”

“It’s nothing Carver.” Said Hawke quickly.

Too quickly, he thought. His eyes narrowed. “So tell me this nothing.” 

She sighed. “I suppose it does concern you.” She looked nervously at Varric and then back to Carver. “I’ve had an offer. From Lord Harimann.” 

“That old guy from the docks? What, for work?” 

“Not exactly. He’s offered to set you up as a person of consequence in Kirkwall. A house for you and mother, and training in whatever profession you wish.”

“To set me up?” He said not grasping what she was getting at. “I thought it was an offer for you.”

“It is in a way. In return for that I … he wants me to be his mistress.”

He laughed, and then, when neither she nor Varric joined in, stared at her, stunned. He looked at Varric, and quickly back at her. “This is a joke,right? You two are having me on.” 

Anabel glared at him. “Is it so strange that someone might find me attractive enough to have sex with?” She put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow and for a moment looked just liked their mother.

“No!” he denied. 

“I’m getting a drink.” She walked out of the suite leaving him staring after her.

Well, it was a little strange. Up until a few weeks ago she’d just been Anabel, his fighting partner, his older sister. Some part of him had never quite believed his mother’s insistence of Anabel’s unattractiveness, but suddenly everyone seemed to be sniffing around her, and he didn’t understand it. Anders, Isabela, even Merrill looked at her that way sometimes. And then there was Meeran and now Lord what’s his name. When had that change happened? He looked over at her as she came back into the room with Anders, laughing at something he had said. Without saying a word or looking at him, she handed him one of the ales she was carrying and sat down feet on the table tilting the chair back continuing her conversation with the mage. 

He tried looking at her as if she weren’t his sister. Nice hair, if not exactly neat but thick and curly and a pretty color. Nice skin, if you didn’t mind a few freckles. Her mouth. Yeah, Isabela was right. She did have a sexy mouth. And her figure. He took a look at her in her new leather armor. First clothing she had that fit her properly in, well, as long as he could remember. Long legs, slender waist, boobs – no not going there. Ass – definitely not going there.

Oh Maker. His sister was hot. His mouth fell open.

He heard Varric chuckle beside him. “Yeah, Junior. Your life just got a whole lot more complicated.” 

  


Lord Harimann looked up as Alfred entered his office. “Excuse me, my Lord. Serah Hawke is here to see you.”

He frowned. He hadn’t expected to see her so soon. “Well don’t just stand there.” He snapped. “Send her in.” Alfred bowed and left returning a few seconds later with the girl. 

“Close the door after you, Alfred. If the Magistrate arrives tell him I’ll be with him shortly.” Once Alfred had left he turned to Hawke. “Good Morning, my dear. Please, have a seat.”

“No need. I won’t take up much of your time.” She appeared nervous. Ah. So the answer was no then. “Lord Harimann. I’m afraid I can’t take you up on your offer.” She opened her mouth to continue, and he cut her off. 

“It’s quite all right. There’s no need to explain.” 

She looked surprised. “Of course there is. Please don’t think I’m unappreciative. What you offered would indeed solve many of the difficulties I find myself in. But to give my affection, physical or otherwise, for money...” Her voice trailed off for a moment before she continued. “It’s just not something I can do. I mean you no disrespect. It wasn’t a decision that was made lightly.” 

“I see.” He was surprised at how disappointed he was at the decision. “And what of Meeran?”

“I’ve something else I’m working on. An expedition. If it goes according to plan then Meeran shouldn’t be a problem.” She hoped that was true. 

“Well I thank you for your honesty.” He offered her his hand abruptly. “I wish you luck in your expedition my dear.” 

She looked troubled as she shook his hand. “Thank you, my lord.” She said quietly. She turned and walked to the door but as she opened it he called her name. She turned and he beckoned her back. 

He was holding a book in his hand. “I made some inquiries and managed to obtain this. I’d like you to have it.” He handed it to her. 

She looked down at it. Orlesian Legacy: How Institutions of the Oppressors Linger, the speeches of Viscount Michel Lafaille, collected by Philliam, a Bard. She looked up at him, surprised. “This is the book you mentioned last night. I couldn’t possible accept it.” But her fingers were running over the words in the title.

He was pleased by her obvious pleasure in the book. “Nonsense. If you like I could turn my back and you could 'borrow' it.” He said lightly. Her lips curved into a smile and he smiled back at her. “But I would prefer you accept it as a gift. In thanks for a remarkably pleasant evening.”

“Thank you. You’ve been so kind to me.” She hesitated for a moment before reaching up and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I hope we’ll see each other again.” 

He just smiled, a little sadly, she thought. She left his office, excusing herself as she brushed past another richly dressed noble, who stood in the open doorway.

Lord Harimann gave him a nod of greeting. “Vanard.” 

“A little early to be entertaining.” The man said with a smirk.

“Don’t be vulgar.” Said Lord Harimann. “The girl’s a sword for hire.”

“You’re joking.” Said Vanard. 

“I am not. A very effective one at that. She’s the one who brought young Dumar back the other day.”

“The Fereldan?” he said in surprise. “She’s not what I’d expected.”

“No. She’s quite unexpected.” Said Lord Harimann, his eyes lingered on the door she’d disappeared through. 

“Perhaps I should hire her. “ Magistrate Vanard said moodily. “My own guards seem to be useless.”

Lord Harimann looked suddenly grim. “Your son, again?” he asked sharply.

“Yes.” The magistrate’s tone made clear he didn’t wish to discuss the matter.

Lord Harimann’s lips narrowed. “The alienage won’t put up with this for much longer, Vanard. Something needs to be done.” 

Vanard brushed that aside. “If the girl’s brought back alive and some coins are thrown at them they’ll be fine. Shall we get down to business?”

Harimann frowned his disapproval, but settled himself behind his desk, more than willing to lose himself in business for a few hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There seems to be some debate as to whether Johane Harimann is Lord Harimann's wife or his daughter. I've chosen to listen to Sebastian's dialog when you receive the Repentance quest, which states that she is his daughter.


	19. The Remains of Sister Plinth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A find in the Undercity leads Hawke back to the Chantry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place immediately after my other piece "The Miner's Confession"

In the days following her dinner with Lord Harimann, Hawke finally heeded Anders’ advice and took things easy. After Anders' words of warning she did so willingly, but honestly she wouldn’t have had much choice as her companions were watching her, well, like hawks. She went nowhere without an escort, and accepted no jobs outside of the city. The jobs she did take were simple; finding lost objects, returning found objects. It was easy, stress free, and dull, so very dull.

“So you need to stab something to be entertained?” asked Anders with a raised eyebrow when she’d finished her rant. He handed her another pile of newly washed bandages to roll. Varric had dropped her off earlier, and she’d been helping him with some of the more mundane aspects of running the clinic. Carver and Isabela were due to pick her up later that morning. 

“No, of course not.” She was perched cross legged on the corner of his desk, the spot where she always seemed to end up whenever she came to the clinic, while he sat at the chair in front of her. “I’d just like to take a job that actually required the use of my brain. Planning. Strategy. Negotiation, even. Do you know what I did yesterday?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “I delivered a shawl to someone at the Blooming Rose. That was the extent of how I challenged myself.” 

Anders couldn’t help laughing at the frustrated look on her face. 

“And the worst part of it is that it paid better than some of jobs I’ve done that actually did involve stabbing people.” She shook her head in disbelief. “I’m sure there’s some kind of lesson to be learned from that."

“Perhaps you should consider a career change.” He suggested. 

Her eyes twinkled merrily. “Perhaps I should. Hawke’s Lost and Found, maybe? I could finally find homes for all those torn trousers I keep finding.” She finished rolling the last of the bandages, and tossed it into the basket with the others. 

“Any news on Meeran?” Anders asked, though he was certain if there had been he would have heard it already.

She sighed. “Still as pissed as ever. Still spouting death threats whenever my name is mentioned.” She let her head rest on the pillar behind her. “I love you all, you know that, but I’m getting so tired of always having a keeper.” 

Anders eyes were sympathetic. “Well I certainly know what that feels like.” 

Anabel looked over at him. Of course. A mage in the circle was always watched. But not by friends. “Oh, Maker Anders. I’m sorry. The two things don’t even compare. What a whiny brat I am.”

Anders got to his feet and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t know why you put up with me.” She said, shaking her head.

“It’s mostly for the jam.” He said lightly, hoisting the basket of bandages up.

“Well, it is very good jam.” She she said, her eyes twinkling. He just smiled and walked towards the storage room in the back. She followed him keeping up a steady stream of conversation. 

“One bright spot is that I think we’re getting close to having the money we need for the expedition. I don’t think Bartrand is going to be thrilled at the prospect of a human partner, but I think having your maps will keep him from refusing outright. Another thank you I owe you.” She gave him a grateful smile from where she stood leaning her head against the jamb of the doorway. 

He glanced at her, amazed by the easy affection on her face. She didn’t hide what she felt, an astonishing trait in someone who’d spent most of her life on the run. If Hawke cared for you, it was right there, for anyone to see. Why she hadn’t run screaming from him after that first night in the Chantry was still a mystery to him. But she hadn’t. And here she stood, thanking him. It should be the other way around. 

He wondered for the hundredth time what would have happened if he had met her before. Would she have the same effect on him? Made him a different sort of person? If Justice hadn’t taken up residence, if he were simply a mage and he was free to pursue her, would she make the same choice as her mother, and pledge herself to an apostate on the run? Would she be willing to give up her freedom and live like that? Oh, yes. For the one she loved, Hawke would do anything. That was just a part of who she was. For just a moment he let his heart ache for that. For that chance, for that opportunity, for that life. And then he gave himself a mental shake. No. You are not a simple apostate. You won’t do that to her. He turned to put the basket on the shelf. “Wait to thank me until you’ve actually experienced all the joys the Deep Roads have to offer.” He said casually.

A small frown crossed her face. “I’d been meaning to ask you about that. Could we get together sometime before the expedition leaves to talk about them? The Deep Roads, I mean. I’d hate to run across something particularly vile down there and think, gosh, I probably should have asked Anders what to do about this, while you’re sitting all cozy up here in the Undercity drinking your tea, thinking, hmm, maybe I should have told Hawke about that song that automatically lulls the darkspawn to sleep.” She looked at him and laughed at the suddenly stunned expression on his face. “What? You mean there actually is a song that puts darkspawn to sleep?” she asked.

“No, it’s not that. I just thought.” He was the one frowning now. “Aren’t you bringing me along?” he asked feeling unaccountably like a child who’d been abandoned by his friends when they went off to play.

Her eyes went round, and her mouth fell open in surprise. “You mean you’d actually come? But you hate the Deep Roads.” She said, as if he had forgotten that fact.

He looked at her in exasperation. “Of course I hate the Deep Roads. Any sane person would. But if you think I’m letting you go down there by yourself you’re the one who’s mad. You need me down there, Hawke. Not just because I’m a healer, but because I’m a warden. I’ll be able to…”

His planned argument was abruptly cut off as she ran to him, and flung her arms tightly around his waist. His arms automatically went around her. 

“Thank you.” She said into his chest. She looked up, her face filled with such relief that he felt guilty that he hadn’t insisted he was going before now. “I wanted to ask you so much, but I knew how you felt about it. You’re sure?” 

He must be crazy, he thought, volunteering to go back there, but looking at her eyes shining, filled with gratitude and admiration he could only answer, “Yes. I’m sure.” 

Her expression was wary, suddenly. “And Justice doesn’t mind?” She asked carefully.

Ah, Justice. Justice was quite honestly torn about it. The darkspawn were, of course, a great injustice, and fighting them had been Justice’s original purpose in staying with the wardens. There had been a few rumblings that Anders was doing this not to fight the darkspawn, but because of his feelings for Hawke, but as Anders had pointed out, that wouldn’t make the darkspawn they’d encounter any less dead. That had seemed to satisfy Justice, his protests silenced to a vague grumbling about Hawke in general that Anders found he was all too willing to disregard. 

“Justice is always up for slaying darkspawn.” He said simply.

She look happily up at him, her arms still holding him tightly. “You don’t know how much I wanted you to come.” She let her head rest against his chest, pressing closer to savor the familiar smells of healing herbs and strong soap. Smells from her childhood. She relaxed against him, “You’ve been such a good friend, Anders. Much better than I deserve, with all the trouble I get into.”

He smiled down at her, feeling some of her tension ease, tension he hadn’t realized was there. He let one hand briefly stroke her shining hair, glad he had been able to do this for her. “I might say the same to you.” He could stand like this, with her slender form pressed against him, forever, he thought. 

_Distraction_. Grumbled Justice.

Anders ignored him, and let himself hold Hawke a little more closely.

“Oy!” they heard Carver call from the clinic. “Anyone here?” 

Hawke pulled away easily, apparently in no way as affected as Anders had been. “In here. We’ll be right out.” She called out.

They walked back into the clinic to find Carver with Isabela beside him, Carver’s arm draped loosely around her shoulders. Hawke looked at the pair with affection. 

Carver scowled at her. “What?” She noticed he didn’t move his arm.

As much as either of them denied it being anything more than a purely physical relationship (or as Isabela had charmingly put it, “fuck buddies”), they had hardly been seen out of each other’s company since that first night. 

“You two are just so darn cute.” Hawke said with a smirk. 

Isabela scoffed. “I don’t do cute, kitten.” But she continued to lean casually against Carver’s bulk.

“All evidence to the contrary.” Hawke said, smiling, before turning back to Anders. “Thanks for the sympathetic ear, and for the other thing.” She leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

“Thanks for lending a hand.” He replied, ignoring the glare Carver sent his way. Hawke flashed her dimple at him and walked out with her brother and Isabela. 

The three of them meandered their way through the Undercity, heading back to the Hanged Man for some lunch. As they neared the stairway to the market Hawke suddenly slowed and then went still before swiftly reaching for her daggers. Carver took one look at her face and stepped away from Isabela, pulling his sword from his back. Isabela disappeared into the shadows just as quickly. Men seemd to suddenly rain down from above them. Hawke spun and ducked down, as Carver’s blade neatly beheaded one in front of her. Not Carta, she thought as she flipped right over the head of another one and quickly slit his throat. Not Red Iron, unless Meeran had hired all new men.

“Try to keep the pretty ones alive!” One of the cried out. 

Of course. Slavers. Easy pickings, and fewer questions if they did their collecting in Darktown.

“Behind you.” Carver shouted. She dropped and rolled out of the way as Carver brought his sword down on top of the man. 

“If we kill them we get their stuff!” yelled Isabela, suddenly appearing by the fourth one, plunging both her blades into his back. Anabel and Carver saw the movement behind her at the same time; another slaver moving quickly out from the shadows behind her. They both moved at the same time, Carver plowing into the man, just as Anabel appeared behind him. Carver’s sheer weight and size knocked both her and the slaver off their feet, and into a nearby pile of rubbish. The slaver landed half on top of her and she quickly rolled him so she was on top, only to realize in her fall she’d lost her grip on her blades. Looking frantically around, she spotted them on the ground just out of her reach. She glanced quickly at the slaver and saw his eyes gleam as he realized her plight. Before he could do anything about it, she had hauled back and punched him right between the eyes. There was a flash of pain in her hand and a horrible crunching of bones that she really hoped was his nose and not her fingers, and then Carver shouted “Left.” She immediately rolled left as Carver’s sword brutally shattered the man’s torso. 

“Shit!” said Anabel pushing herself to a sitting position and clutching her hand. “I fucking hate punching people.” She looked up at her companions. “I think I’m doing it wrong. Is it supposed to hurt this much?” 

“Depends on what you punch.” Commented Carver. He looked at her sitting there clutching her hand. “Tell me we aren’t going to have to hike back to the mage’s place to have him fix it.” 

She tentatively flexed the hand a few times. “No, it’s okay I think.” she said with a frown looking down at it. She’d split the skin over her knuckles and she could already see some discoloration. Stupid pale skin showed every bruise. Her palms were stinging, and she turned her hands over to look at them. She’d scraped them when she’d rolled into the rubbish. She looked around. “And here I am sitting in the garbage. Nothing at all symbolic about that, I'm sure.” She commented, reaching over to grab her blades from where they lay. She looked up at Carver as she did so, one eyebrow raised. “So, tell me, this leaping mindlessly to Isabela’s defense. Is this going to be a regular thing now?” she questioned. “Because if it is, we really need to spend some time figuring out how that’s going to work. Because what we did here just now? That was really not pretty, and frankly a little embarrassing for two people who are supposed to be such a legendary fighting pair.” 

Carver looked over at Isabela for a moment and then smiled. “Yeah, I think we’d better.” He said, sounding like he was admitting to something more than just needing to practice sparring with his sister. 

Hawke hid a smile, as she started to push to her feet. But when she did so, something caught her eye. She shifted suddenly on to her hands and knees, and leaned forward, shoving some broken planks out of the way.

“Really?” asked Carver watching her with bemusement. “We’re actually going through the garbage now? Are we that desperate?”

Anabel rolled her eyes at him as she pulled a board free and tossed it to the side. “As opposed to going through the pockets of the people we kill to get the odd coin? I think you know the answer to that.” She reached her hand into the opening she had made. “There’s something in here. It looks like some kind of chest.” 

“A chest is always good.” Said Isabela, coming to her side. The look Carver had given her had done strange things, making her insides feel all gooey. Ridiculous. She wasn’t going to go fall for some Fereldan puppy. No matter how masterful and manly he was suddenly acting. She didn’t do relationships. She’d stopped that kind of nonsense years ago. “All sorts of things you can hide in a chest.”

“So I learned the other night when you hid the Knight of Roses in your cleavage during that last game of Wicked Grace.” commented Anabel, straining to get a hold of the chest. 

Isabela gave her a knowing smile. “One of the many things I could teach you, kitten, if you’d just give me the chance.”

“You’re sleeping with my brother, Izzy. I think that ship has sailed.” She finally managed to grab the metal handle on the side of the chest, and pulled it out. It wasn’t that large, about the length of Carver’s forearm, made of wood, covered in elaborate carving. She looked more closely. She recognized the sunburst symbol of the chantry, but none of the others. She tried to life the lid. Locked. She pulled out her picks and began fiddling with the lock. 

“Why limit yourself, Hawke?” Asked Isabela with a teasing smile. “Why I once had a quite amazing encounter with a brother and sister in Llomerryn. I still dream about it from time to time. Blondes both of them. The looked exactly alike, well, except for certain bits. You two don’t look that much alike at all. We could even pretend that you weren’t…”

“Can we not be having this conversation, please?” Carver interrupted with a small scowl at Isabela. 

“Seconded.” Said Anabel, a frown of concentration creasing her forehead. It was a complicated lock for such a small chest. That was good, wasn’t it? Whatever was inside had to be valuable.

The lock clicked open and Anabel lifted the lid of the chest. There was a lumpy bundle of moldering cloth inside. She lifted it out and carefully unwrapped it. The cloth had traces of elaborate embroidery on it, however most of the threads had rotted, and she couldn’t make out what it might have shown, but inside there were bones. Not a complete skeleton: a skull, what she thought was a leg bone, and a few others, finger bones maybe. She rewrapped them and placed them carefully back inside the chest. As she did she noticed some sort of plaque set inside of the lid. She couldn’t make it out in the dim light, and she pushed herself to her feet, carrying the chest over to the light of the nearest torch. She balanced it awkwardly on one arm, trying to wipe the dirt off the plaque as best she could. Cleaned off, the plaque itself was a work of art. Carefully worked, brightly colored enamel, it showed what appeared to be a chantry sister, her arms lifted in devotion. “There’s something written here.” She said. She wiped at it again, trying to remove more of the grime, and squinted to make out the writing. “Sister Plinth, devoted servant of the Maker and of his bride Andraste. My faith sustains me. Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice.” 

“Poor Sister Plinth.” Commented Isabela. “Sounds like she had a dreary life. Is that all that’s in there?” she asked, her disappointment plain.

“There wasn’t any coin, if that’s what you mean.” Said Anabel absentmindedly as she continued to examine the chest. She ran her fingers over the plaque and closed the lid, inspecting the carving again. The lock clicked shut and she frowned. A very elaborate lock for such a small chest. “It looks important.” She said eventually. “We should show it to someone in the Chantry.”

“Lug that thing all the way up to Hightown? You’re joking.” Said Carver looking at her in disbelief. 

“It’s old. Very old, I think. Someone in the chantry would be interested. The archivist, maybe.” She frowned. A Chantry the size of Kirkwall’s would have an archivist, wouldn’t they? 

“And I suppose I’m the one who gets to carry it?” Carver asked, obviously unhappy at the idea.

She shrugged. “I’ll do it, but it’ll take three times as long if I carry it and keep having to stop to rest.” She pointed out. Carver just scowled. 

She sighed. “Tell you what. You carry the chest up to Hightown, and I’ll loot the corpses this time.” 

Carver grinned. “Deal.”

 

He was back to complaining by the time they reached the top of the Chantry stairs. Her search of the corpses had only yielded a handful of silvers and coppers, and a lot of blood under her fingernails that she hadn’t been able to get out when they’d paused at a pump in Lowtown to clean off. Carver had definitely gotten the better part of the bargain, but here he was, bitching again. 

“No one is going to be in the least bit interested in this thing.” He grumbled as they reached the top, resting the chest on the stone railing of the stairs by the door. “I can’t believe you made me drag it all the way up here, just so we can hang around waiting for you in possibly the most boring place in Kirkwall.”

Isabela spoke up, running her hand lightly up Carver’s arm. The puppy did have the most amazing biceps. “I wouldn’t say it’s the most boring. There are opportunities everywhere. It’s all what you make of it.” She looked at him suggestively, but he was to disgruntled with his sister to notice, and just snorted. 

“Yeah, right.”

She pressed her breasts against him and his head turned to her, heat flaring in his eyes. He had such pretty eyes. She smiled appreciatively. “Ever done it in a confessional, handsome?”

Anabel goggled at the pirate and then glanced at her brother noting in horror a small utterly lecherous smile beginning to appear on his face. She reached up and cuffed him hard on the back of the head.

“Hey!” he protested with a glare at her.

“No.” She said pointing a warning finger at him, and then at Isabela. She yanked the chest out of his hands and tucked it awkwardly under one arm, trying to balance some of the weight on her hip. She moved her pointed finger between the two of them, “Neither of you is to step foot in the Chantry. You will both stay right here and wait for me to come back. Is that understood?” 

Carver scowled, “I’m not the bloody dog you know.” He muttered leaning against the railing and crossing his arms over his chest, sulking. 

Isabela just smiled innocently back at her. “Of course, sweet thing. We’ll wait. Right here.” She patted the railing.

Anabel’s eyes narrowed as she watched the pirate. “Glad to hear it, Bela. Because if I were to find you in there, I might be forced to make certain that a Darktown healer we both know never makes up that special ointment for you ever again.” She had no idea what that salve Isabela was always demanding from Anders was, and she really didn’t want to know, but her threat seemed to have the desired effect.

Isabela looked outraged. “You wouldn’t.” She declared.

“Try me.” Hawke said grimly, looking her straight in the eye. 

Isabela looked away first. “Fine. We’ll stay here.” She flounced to the railing, pouting and glared at the smaller woman. “We really need to get you laid, you know that?” she said with a huff.

Tell me about it, thought Anabel with a sigh, as she pushed the Chantry door open with her shoulder and walked inside. 

 

Sebasian walked out of the confessional, glad the session was over. Confessions were usually routine for him, but today his mind had gone to places that no celibate Chantry brother’s mind should go. He felt a small pang of guilt at the penance he had given the miner. Penance that might be his, had he actually confessed his sinful thoughts about a beautiful young woman he hardly knew.

But were his thoughts of Hawke really sinful? Before hearing Jansen’s confession, and having that frankly embarrassing adolescent reaction to it, he would have said no. After all, he’d only spoken to her twice. He hadn’t seen her in weeks. Certainly he admired her -- consider what she had done for him after all. It was no doubt that very gratitude that accounted for his feelings towards her.

Not anything else.

Certainly not lust. He hadn’t been troubled by lust for years, in fact he’d been surprised how quickly he had overcome that particular temptation. The truth was he’d grown tired of the meaningless nights of lust and passion even before his parents gave him to the Chantry. What he felt about Hawke was nothing like lust. 

Was it? 

He thought about it. No. Completely different. 

Of course she was lovely. Beautiful even. There was no denying that. He quickened his pace, ignoring the hint of doubt. 

He had been tired and unfocused, that was all. Yes. 

And in all likelihood he wouldn’t encounter her again. There were hundreds of thousands of people in Kirkwall. She didn’t come to the Chantry regularly. There was no need to contemplate these baffling emotions further. No reason to confess anything. No reason to give Elthina an excuse to deny him retaking his vows. If he retook his vows. 

He rubbed his suddenly aching head. Perhaps he’d light a candle and pray for a bit, before the noon services. 

He turned around, heading back to the Chantry. As he rounded the corner he heard Sister Samea and Sister Lorena. Gossiping again.

“I heard Sister Alema has been dipping into the spirits again.” Sister Samea was saying.

“Have you noticed the smell coming off her lately? It’s like she’s been bathing in hard spirits.” Sister Lorena sounded almost gleeful. 

“Let’s hope she doesn’t get too close to the candles!” Sister Samea snickered. 

He shook his head at their words. At least he knew what to expect in their confessions this week.

“She missed two lines in her sermon the other day. I think age is finally catching up with her.” Said Sister Lorena.

What a catty pair, he thought as he walked to the table where the unlit candles were kept, in too much internal turmoil to summon any brotherly forbearance for the two women. He thought of of ancient Sister Alema, who’d always been so kind to him during those difficult early days in the Chantry. He had decided to ignore the sisters, when an unmistakable female voice froze him in place. 

“Excuse me, sisters.” 

Hawke? What was Hawke doing here? He turned back, the ache in his head forgotten.

He heard one of the sisters sniff condescendingly. “It would be appreciated if you didn’t come clomping in here like a herd of cattle. The amount of noise you’re making is ridiculous.” 

He frowned at the contemptuous tone, his annoyance with the sisters increasing. Hawke scarcely made any sound at all when she moved, graceful as she was. He abandoned the candle and turned towards the staircase where the sisters had been standing.

“I’m sorry, Sister. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I was looking for the archivist?” Hawke’s voice was entirely respectful, but that didn’t placate the two sisters.

“You Fereldans should show more respect. This is seat of the Grand Cleric of all the Free Marches, not some backwater southern chantry. We do important work here.” 

Sebastian quickened his pace, and rounded the corner to see the three women standing there. Sister Samea, tall and thin and sharp. Sister Lorena, smaller and rounder, and sweeter he’d always thought, though after hearing what had just come out of her mouth he might have to reconsider. 

And Hawke. Glowing with color as always. Smaller, daintier than the other two, though a little more disheveled than the last times he had seen her, her dark leathers a bit dusty, a smudge of dirt on her cheek, that made her look very young. Her bright curls were barely restrained by a rich turquoise colored scarf. His heart seemed to swell just at the sight of her, immediately belying his confident denial that the effect she had on him was in any way out of the ordinary. She was awkwardly balancing a chest that was far too large for her to carry comfortably, and just the beginning of a faint scowl showed on her lovely face. 

 

Hawke prayed for patience. After a year of it, you’d think she’d be immune, but it still rankled to have the word Fereldan used as an insult. She took a deep breath. “Again, I apologize, but I’ve found something in Darktown that I believe would interest the archivist. If you could just point me in his direction, I would appreciate it.”

The taller thinner sister joined in. “I hardly think someone like you could have found anything in Darktown to interest the archivist. He’s a very important man, you know. He doesn’t have the time to spend looking at whatever refuse you might have brought with you from Darktown.” 

They reminded her of the hens they used to keep in Lothering. Pecking away at each other, pecking at you if you got too close. She’d hated those hens. Her nostrils flared in annoyance. This was getting her nowhere. She hadn’t wanted to disturb him, but it was clear the sisters weren’t going to help her. “Is Brother Sebastian available? I think he might be willing to help me.”

Her words had the opposite effect of what she had hoped. The two sisters exchanged a knowing look and turned to her with renewed disapproval. 

“You girls simply must stop pestering Brother Sebastian all the time. He’s a devout man, a brother in the Chantry, not someone for you to moon over.” Said the tall one.

“Excuse me?” Hawke asked. Surely she wasn’t that obvious, she thought, feeling that telltale blush appear on her cheeks. No. She’d simply asked to speak to him. For a legitimate reason. _Ah,_ said that little voice in her head, _but didn’t you hope that you might get a glimpse of him while you were here?_ A small scowll appeared on her face. _Shut up_ , she told the voice firmly.

“It’s shameful the way you girls throw yourselves at him. When I was young we wouldn’t have dreamed of behaving like that.” Said the rounder one.

Before she could respond a voice rang out behind her.

“Serah Hawke.” She turned to see Sebastian Vael walking towards her, that easy, charming smile on his face. 

Sebastian came up to them, stopping directly in front of Hawke, and looking down at her and trying to ignore that strange thrill of pleasure he got just being near her. 

The pink in Hawke’s cheeks deepened as she looked up at him. “Hi.” She said, suddenly breathless at the mere sight of him, her heart skipping erratically. Again. Maybe she should have Anders check her heart. This reaction couldn’t be normal, she thought as her eyes ran over him suddenly realizing he was wearing priest’s robes instead of the white armor she’d always seen him in before now. 

She’d always thought chantry robes unflattering. They had so many layers and sashes that they seemed to have a slightly mummifying effect on the wearer, but on Sebastian Vael they looked…exotic almost. The russet under robe with its gold embroidery brought your eyes immediately to that face, called attention to his throat and the line of his jaw, and brought out the reddish tones in his hair. The sashes at his waist showed off the lean elegance that disguised just how large he really was. The dark grey of the outer robe just made the blue of his eyes more vivid, and the open vee of the neckline just emphasized his wide shoulders. 

Huh. She’d always thought it was the armor that made his shoulders look that way. Apparently not, if simple grey wool made them look even more broad, made them appear to almost strain at the seams. 

The robes should have emphasized that he was a priest, that he was sworn only to Andraste. But they didn’t. 

They made him look more handsome. More virile. 

Sexier.

Oh yes. She was definitely headed for the Void, she thought as her eyes went back to his face. Those blue eyes were warm as he smiled down at her, and even the realization of her own impending damnation couldn’t keep an answering smile from her face. 

He tore his gaze away from her and glanced at the two sisters. “Sister Samea. Sister Lorena.” He smiled pleasantly at the two women, who all but fluttered in response.

“Brother Sebastian.” the two chimed in unison.

“I’m so sorry, Brother.” Said Sister Samea. “We told her that you weren’t to be bothered.” She glared at Hawke.

“Thank you, Sister Samea, but Serah Hawke is a friend. I’m more than happy to help her.” Unable to stop himself, he looked back at Hawke, struck once more by small she was now that he was standing right beside her. She must be incredibly skilled with those daggers, he thought, to make up for what she lacked in brawn. 

Suddenly all too aware of the sisters’ curious eyes on them, he turned to them. “I was hoping you ladies would be willing to do a favor for me.” He said, using his charm to full effect. “I’m afraid poor Sister Alema has put her robes on wrongside out again. I wonder if you could help her put them on properly before the lunchtime service, before someone less charitable comes across her and she’s subjected to gossip. People can sometimes be so cruel.”

It was the sisters’ turn to blush as they eagerly agreed to go and help the very sister they’d been disparaging moments before.

Hawke tried to hide a smile as they left. She looked at him, her eyes merry. “You heard them, didn’t you? What they were saying about that other sister.” she asked him, her dimple showing in her cheek.

His eyes twinkled. “I can’t imagine what you mean.” 

She laughed up at him, that wonderful throaty laugh, and he smiled at the sound. Her whole face lit up when she laughed like that. 

“Sadly, Sister Alema does need aid most days. She’s very elderly, and prone to lapses of memory. It’s sad to see. She’s a kind a giving woman, and was a true example of what a sister of the chantry should be.” 

“As opposed to those two cows.” Said Hawke glancing at the door that the sisters had disappeared behind. The she realized what she had said. She looked up at him apologetically. “I am sorry. I have an unfortunate habit of saying whatever comes into my head.” She shook her head ruefully. 

He remembered that about her. “It’s refreshing actually. I far prefer it to what we just saw here.”

“That’s sweet of you to say, but I need to be more careful about it. It’s been getting me into rather a lot of trouble lately.” She said almost absently. She turned back to him. “You look well.” She said.

“I am well.” He said, wondering what sort of trouble she was referring to. The lustful thoughts brought on by Jansen’s confession seemed to have completely vanished, drowned out by just the sheer pleasure of being near her again. The irony of her appearance just as he was blithely dismissing any attraction he might have for her didn’t escape him, however. The Maker worked in mysterious ways, he thought, but for now he didn’t care. He was just unaccountably pleased to see her. He realized suddenly that she was staring at him. "Is something wrong?" he asked. 

She tilted her head as she looked at him. “No. Not at all. I’ve never seen you in priest’s robes before.” She commented.

“Our encounters have been rather secular, it’s true. Is it strange?” When he’d first joined he’d felt as if he were putting on a costume every day. Now it seemed strange not to be wearing them. 

“Oh no. You look wonderful in both.” She said without thinking. She somehow resisted the urge to smack her forehead, though she did momentarily close her eyes and wince a little. 

“What brings you into the Chantry on this fine day?” he asked, changing the subject. She was adorable when she was embarrassed.

“This thing actually.” She said, indicating the chest under her arm, relieved he wasn’t pursuing the robes discussion. “I stumbled across it in the Undercity. Quite literally stumbled across it, flat on my rump in a pile of rubbish. Not one of my finer moments. I’m not sure exactly what it is, but I’m fairly certain it belongs to the Chantry, or a chantry anyway. I thought I’d try and find the archivist to get his opinion. The sisters seemed reluctant to let me do so.” She hoisted the chest up on her hip again. It really was much heavier than she’d thought. She could see why Carver had been complaining. Not that she’d ever admit that to him. 

Sebastian saw the movement and immediately stepped forward to take it from her. “Here, let me.” He frowned at the weight of it. “You didn’t carry this all the way up from Darktown on your own?” he asked. 

“No, my brother and a friend are just outside. I forbade them coming in with me.” At his questioning look she just shook her head. “Trust me, you really don’t want to know why.” 

He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question it. “The archivist values his privacy and the sisters take that very seriously, though they shouldn’t have been so rude to you. I’m sorry.” He said apologetically.

“Oh they weren’t so bad.” She said, willing to be charitable with those blue eyes on her. “You should hear some of the things I get called down in Lowtown.” 

She seemed utterly unperturbed by it. He turned his attention back to the chest, angling it to get a better look. It had been heavier than he’d thought it would be. The carvings were beautiful, though hard to see clearly in the nave’s dim light. “May I take a look?” he asked.

“Of course.” 

He carried it to a nearby table where there was more light, and put it down, examining it carefully. Mahogany. Well, that accounted for the weight. His fingers ran over the carvings, marking several obscure chantry symbols in addition to the elaborate sunburst on the lid. “It’s definitely old, Hawke. I’m no expert, but I’d say several hundred years, at least.” 

Her eyes widened in surprise. “As old as that? I suspected it was old, but I didn’t think it was that old. There’s not much inside. Some bones wrapped up in a rather decaying cloth, but there’s a quite beautiful enamel plaque fastened to the inside of the lid. It’s grimy, but I cleaned it off well enough to make out that at least. Would you like to see it?” she offered.

“You can open it?” He’d never been able to pick locks with any skill, though he’d always wished he could. It seemed rakish and daring, or so he’d thought as a boy. 

She just laughed, already reaching for the fabric case that held her picks. “I’m far more disreputable than you think, apparently. It is a bitch of a lock though. And it re-locks on its own when the lid is shut. That’s actually what made me suspect what was inside might be valuable. I’ve only come across a few locks that do that.” She bent over the chest, tools in hand, and then hesitated, glancing up at him with a mischievous grin. “I’m assuming you’ll give me absolution for whatever sins I’m committing by picking a lock smack dab in the middle of the Chantry?” 

The corner of his mouth curved in response. “I think I can safely promise that.” He said. 

“Good, I’d hate for this to be the action that sends me spinning into the Void.” She said absently as she slipped one pick in and moved it carefully . 

He smiled as he watched her, impressed by her concentration, and the deft movements of her hands. She slipped in a second pick. She didn’t look at the lock as she worked but focused her eyes at a distant point, going by purely by feel. She caught her lower lip between her teeth as she concentrated, which just made her upper lip look that much fuller. What was it Jansen had said about her mouth? That it made you think of what it would look like gasping as you took her against a wall. A perfect image flashed into his mind, of grabbing Hawke and shoving her against the stone wall behind her, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand, as the other moved up her waist, feeling those curves, the soft swell of her breast, leaning down and catching that upper lip between his teeth, nibbling it, tasting it. Tasting her. 

Sweet Andraste aid me, he thought as a wave of pure lust, the likes of which he hadn’t felt in years, swept over him. 

“Aha!” Hawke said as the lock clicked open. “There we are.” She lifted the lid open, and turned to look at him. He had stunned look on his face. “You needn’t look so astonished.” She said with a teasing smile. “I told you I could do it. Go on,” she coaxed “Have a look.” She said holding the lid open for him

It took a second or two before her words made any sense. Yes. The chest. He glanced down at the now open chest, but his eye was caught by the sight of the hand she had resting on the lid. Without thinking he reached down and took it in his, the chest forgotten again. “Hawke, what have you done to yourself?” It was badly bruised, the knuckles split, and a bit swollen as well, and if he was not mistaken, that was blood under her fingernails. It seemed entirely wrong that something so fine and delicate should be so abused. He looked up at her with concern.

His hands were warm and dry and certain as they held hers and her breath again hitched a little at the feel. She struggled to maintain a light tone. “It’s nothing. It looks worse than it is, really.”

It suddenly occurred to him that defeating the Flint Company wasn't the only time she put herself in harm’s way. That she took risks like that all the time. That she could be injured or killed at any time. Stupid that he should only realize this now. “But what happened?” 

She gave him an embarrassed smile. “I’m afraid I’ve been punching people again. Something else you’ll need to absolve me of, though in my defense, the man was trying to sell me into slavery at the time.” She laughed at his alarmed expression. “Don’t worry. We took care of them.”

“It wasn’t them I was worrying about.” He murmured, turning his attention back to her hand. He flipped it, looking at the scrapes on the heel of her palm. His thumb stroked lightly over them, and he wondered why it was he seemed unable to keep from touching this girl. She shivered a little, and he looked down at her, momentarily dazzled by the blue and green of her eyes as she lifted them to stare at him. He’d never seen such remarkable eyes. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” he asked.

 _Hurt me_. She thought lost in the blue of his eyes. _With you, I’d probably like it._

She really had been spending far too much time with Isabela. 

He was still looking at her. 

“No, it didn’t hurt.” She managed to get out. His touch sent small thrills of pleasure through her.

What is wrong with you? she asked herself. _Only you, Anabel_ , she thought, as she watched those strong tan fingers run over her hand. _The only person you've had an utterly devastating physical reaction to and it’s a celibate chantry priest. Well done_. “I’m tougher than I look.” She said, trying to regain some self-control.

He found that hard to believe. “You should be more careful.” He didn’t still didn’t release her hand, just continued rubbing his thumb gently over her palm. 

“It’s a hazard of the job, I’m afraid.” She tried to joke and she gently pulled her hand free.

“I’m sorry that it is.” He said softly, looking at her. “Perhaps you should consider another line of work.” 

She couldn’t help laughing at that. “You know you’re the second person to suggest that today. That can’t be a good sign.” She said wryly. She turned her attention back to the table. “Here, take a look.” 

He leaned forward, trying to see the plaque she'd mentioned, just as she pulled her head back so he could have a better view. The movement brought his face right next to her bright curls. They smelled of spring flowers, freesias, and orange blossoms, but a hint of something more sensual. Sandalwood, perhaps? He briefly closed his eyes and let himself just inhale. Scents he would now forever associate with Hawke.

The Maker was testing him. He'd arrogantly dismissed his reaction to Jansen’s confession, just brushed it aside. And now here Hawke was revealing the effect she had on him in a way that he couldn't ignore or deny anymore. He wondered if it would be possible to meet with Elthina this evening, to confess to her, to discuss with her what such intense feelings for a girl he hardly knew might mean as he struggled to choose between the life of a priest and that of a prince. He felt better once he’d made the decision to do so.

“Can you see it?” Hawke asked when he didn’t say anything. She tilted the chest up so the light hit it more directly. “It says something about a Sister Plinth. Does that mean anything to you?”

That got his attention. “Sister Plinth? Are you certain?” He turned his attention to the chest in front of him, focusing on the plaque she was pointing to. He read the words, and then read them again, not believing what he was reading. He looked up at her in amazement. “Hawke, do you realize what you’ve found?”

“No?” she said uncertainly. She smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’m frightfully ignorant of such things. I just thought it looked old and important. And certainly not as if it should be lying in a pile of rubbish in the Undercity.”

He ran his hands reverently over the plaque. “The reliquary of Sister Plinth.” He couldn’t quite believe it. “It’s been missing for almost 150 years. It disappeared when the Qunari invaded Kirkwall back in the Storm Age.” He explained to her. He closed the lid and lifted the chest. “Come with me, Hawke. I know someone who will be very interested in seeing this.” 

He led her to the door at the back of the Chantry, holding it open for her.

She hesitated. “Are you sure I’m allowed back here?” She asked cautiously.

“It’s not secret chambers, Hawke. Just rooms where the work that keeps the Chantry running is done.”

“I suppose.” She said reluctantly, feeling a bit foolish. 

She was nervous, he realized. Why would anyone be nervous of the Chantry? He suddenly remembered her apostate father and it all made sense. He took her hand in his. “Come.” 

He led her down corridors, hallways, twisting and turning so many times that she couldn’t have told him what direction they were facing.

“You can find your way out of here, can’t you?” She asked uncertainly, trying not to cling too tightly to his hand. She’d never seen the hidden areas of the chantry before. Well except for those times she and Carver gotten into trouble and stood in front of the Reverend Mother’s desk, forced by Leandra to apologize for whatever mischief they’d gotten into. But that had been the chantry in Lothering not this one. She looked around in wonder as they passed by room after room, storage rooms, kitchens, offices, workrooms, classrooms. She’d known the chantry was big, one only had to look at it from the outside to see that, but it wasn’t just big, it was huge. Corridors branching off of hallways. Doors everywhere. Doors leading to hallways, to staircases, all these passages and levels. Who designed a building this way? 

“Do you ever wonder if the Tevinter architects who built Kirkwall finalized the plans during a particularly boisterous night of drinking?” She asked suddenly.

He glanced down at her. She had a disgruntled frown on her face that caused a small wrinkle to form between her brows. He had a sudden desire to reach over and smooth it. “I can’t say that I have.” He said with a smile. 

“It’s the only explanation I can come up with for a floor plan like this. You’re sure you aren’t lost?” she asked again.

“Quite sure.” He reassured her.

She looked dubious. 

“I have lived here for ten years, Hawke. Have a little faith.” Her grip on his hand tightened a little. She had utter confidence fighting slavers and assasins, but looked so uncertain just walking through the Chantry. It was adorable, he thought, watching her chew on her lower lip. He held her hand more firmly, hoping to reassure her. What was it about her that made him want to take care of her like this, he wondered. 

“I would have thought they’d make the Archivist easier to find.” she commented.

“He likes to conduct his work undisturbed. He’s a bit eccentric. You’ll like him.”

“Well, I’m all for eccentricity.” Said Hawke as Sebastian led her down another hallway and up a narrow staircase, and then down another hallway. She’d never find her way out of here on her own. Hopefully Sebastian wouldn’t just leave her at the Archivist’s office, but help her find her way back when she was done. He finally paused in front of a heavy wooden door and knocked. 

“Come in.” A frail voice answered. Sebastian pushed open the door and held it for Hawke. She entered, a little hesitantly, until she saw what was in the room. It was piled almost floor to ceiling with boxes and parchments and books. Everywhere books. Her eyes went hungrily over them before turning to the man in front of them. A small, ancient man, seated behind an elaborately carved wooden desk. He was positively wizened with age, and completely bald, except for two wisps of white hair that stuck up comically above his ears. He looked carefully at the two of them. His eyes were bright. And sharp. He might be old, but he didn’t miss a thing, thought Hawke.

“Ah. Brother Sebastian.” The man said, and he peered more closely at Hawke. “And someone I haven’t met before.” He looked at her carefully. “You’re very pretty my dear.” He commented matter of factly.

She couldn’t help smiling. “Thank you, Serah.” 

“It’s merely an observation. It's a useful thing, observation. So many today don’t use the eyes the Maker gave them.” He peered at her more intently. “You use those pretty eyes of yours though, don’t you.” It was a statement not a question.

“I try to.” She said, utterly delighted by him. 

“Good.” The old man seemed pleased, and went back to the papers he’d been studying, as if they had concluded their business. Hawke glanced at Sebastian, confused. Sebastian just smiled and cleared his throat and when the old man looked up, spoke again.

“Brother, this is Serah Hawke. Those eyes you were contemplating found something in the Undercity today that she thought might interest you.” He handed the reliquary to Hawke and nodded towards the Brother. She took it and moved in front of the desk.

The archivist’s eyes went to the chest she held and then back to her. “The Undercity? Not many venture there.” He looked at her even more closely than before, his eyes traveling over her, taking in every detail. “You have Fereldan blood.” He announced.

She smiled, puzzled at how he could have known. “Yes.”

“But there’s Marcher blood in you as well.”

“How can you tell?” She asked, fascinated by him.

“The Fereldan blood is easy to see from your vivid coloring, but there’s more. You venture into the Undercity unafraid. You carry sharp knives, but aren’t afraid to use your fists if you need to. And you use your knives and your fists to solve things on your own, instead of calling for the guard to deal with it. That’s very Fereldan.”

She grinned again. It was true, Fereldans believed in solving their problems unaided if possible. “And the Marcher blood?” she asked.

“You find something of value in the Undercity marked with the symbols of the chantry, and you bring it to the chantry instead of vandalizing it and selling it. Rendering that which is of the Chantry to the Chantry. Everything where it belongs. That’s a Marcher trait. So tell me. What have you found?” 

She walked over and placed the chest in front of him. He looked at it with a frown, and then looked it over closely, speaking almost to himself as he examined it. “A reliquary. Mahogany. Exalted Age. No. Older than that. Black Age?” He tried to open it.

“Here.” Hawke said coming around to his side of the desk. She opened the lock again, even more quickly this time, Sebastian noted. She pulled out a wrinkled handkerchief from a pocket and draped it over the bottom half of the lock mechanism. “That should keep it from locking again. If it does just give a shout.”

The archivist looked approvingly at her. “That’s a very useful skill. So many young ladies insist on needlework and cooking.”

Her eyes were merry. “It’s proven rather handy, I have to say. I am fairly good with a needle as well, though I’ve been told my cooking needs work. I once gave my brother a black eye by throwing a particularly dense muffin I’d baked at him.”

The archivist’s eyes went to Sebastian. “I like her, Brother. She has skill, intelligence and humor. That’s a very rare combination. Well done.” He added as if Sebastian had conjured her himself.

He turned his attention back to the chest, tilting back the lid and peering inside at the plaque. He frowned and looked more closely. Then rubbed his eyes and looked again. “Sister Plinth.” He said softly. His mouth fell open and his eyes shot to Hawke and then to Sebastian and then back to Hawke. “Where did you find this?” His voice was agitated, excited.

“In the Undercity, buried under some rubbish.” She explained.

“Here in Kirkwall the whole time.” The archivist said tenderly, his finger running over the etched plaque. He lifted the cloth bundle inside and pushing the books and papers off his desk, laid it there and carefully unwrapped it, looking at the bones. To Hawke’s alarm tears came to his eyes. “She’s returned to us. After all these years.” He carefully rewrapped the remains and placed them reverently back in the reliquary. He came to his feet and grabbed Hawke’s hand, shaking it so vigorously up and down that she could hardly keep from laughing. “Thank you. Thank you so much Serah. You are truly blessed that the Maker and Andraste would lead you to find her.” He turned to Sebastian. “Did you see Brother Sebastian? Did you see what she brought us?” he asked tremulously, still shaking Hawke’s hand.

“I did, Brother. Perhaps a reward might be in order?” He suggested, with a twinkling glance at Hawke.

The archivist looked surprised at the idea, and then nodded his head. “Of course. Of course. A reward. Yes.” He scrambled in his desk and pulled out a handful of coins and pressed them into Hawke’s hands.

She looked down and her mouth dropped open. “Brother, it’s too much.” She protested. “I merely carried a chest up from the Undercity.”

“Not nearly enough, my dear. Not nearly enough. I must go and tell the Grand Cleric. The find of a lifetime.” He grabbed the box, and it slammed shut but didn’t lock, thanks to Hawke’s handkerchief, and he all but ran out of the room, leaving Hawke staring after him. 

“Will he be all right?” she asked in bewilderment.

Sebastian smiled at her, well-pleased with how the meeting had gone. “I suspected he would appreciate your find. I should have formally introduced you. That was Brother Plinth, the archivist.”

“Well, yes. I know he’s the archivist.” She looked suddenly up at him. “Wait, Brother Plinth? As in Sister Plinth?”

“A descendant of Sister Plinth. It’s been his life’s work, trying to find her remains.” He explained.

“But how wonderful!” She exclaimed, genuine pleasure on her face. “I’m so glad I brought them back here.” They walked out of the Brother Plinth’s office. “The others thought I was mad to bother, you know.” She confided to him. “I can’t wait to rub it in their faces.” 

He laughed out loud at the look of satisfaction on her face. He didn’t think he had ever met anyone who was quite as open with her feelings as Hawke. 

He had the nicest laugh, she thought. “He was wonderful.” She said. “Thank you for introducing us, but I should get back to the others and I've taken up more than enough of your time now. Could you show me the way out of this labyrinth? If you don’t I suspect that I may be the next thing Brother Plinth is searching for.”

They walked companionably down the halls and corridors, Hawke paying more attention this time, and Sebastian pointing out various things he thought might be of interest.

“I had no idea so much was back here. You’re completely self-sufficient, aren’t you?” She marveled. “It’s like a small village.” She said in wonder.

Sebastian glanced around. “I suppose it is.”

“It’s nice.” She said, looking in the rooms they passed. Everywhere people hard at work, but most were smiling, content, seemingly happy with their tasks. “I thought it would be more frenetic and grim for some reason. But it isn’t. It’s serene. Peaceful.” 

Sebastian looked around, feeling the familiar calm blanket him. He smiled at the feel of it. “Yes. It’s an oasis of sorts for many.”

“It shows in you.” She commented, looking up at his face.

“Does it really?” he asked, liking the thought. 

“Oh yes. You’re very restful to be around. But it’s a confident sort of restful, not a lazy sort.” They rounded a corner. “Did you always want to be a priest?”

He chuckled as he thought of his early rebellion at the very thought. “Not at all. It was my family’s idea. It’s a tradition for each generation of Vaels to give someone to the chantry. I was the youngest of three by some years. My parents had their heir and their spare, and I was leftover. I can’t truly remember when it wasn’t expected for me to become a brother.”

“But you seem very devout. I’m surprised to hear it wasn’t your choice.”

“I went through a very wild phase when I was young, I’m afraid. My parents were worried I would ruin our family’s reputation.”

“I find that hard to believe.” He was so nice. So calm. So soothing. 

“Oh, I assure you I was. After one particularly embarrassing incident, I found myself bundled off here to Kirkwall before I knew quite what had happened. I was still hungover when I was thrown on the boat for the first leg of the journey.” He’d been so angry with his parents. And so miserable.

“I’m sorry.” She said, watching the expressions on his face.

He looked at her, his face serene once more. “For what?”

“That it wasn’t your choice.” She explained.

He smiled thinking of how Elthina had given him back the choice, letting it be his decision. “In the end it was. I found a purpose here that I never had as a prince. If it hadn’t been for the murder of my family I could have happily spent the rest of my days serving the Maker and his bride.”

“How horrible for you. It must be awful to have the life you planned ripped away from you like that.” She seemed genuinely disturbed by it.

“But didn’t the same thing happen to you when the Blight forced you to flee Ferelden?” he pointed out. “Didn’t you have a life planned that you had to leave behind?”

She scoffed at the idea. “Not even a little. It was more day to day survival for us.” And hiding Bethany, of course. Hiding her from the very Chantry you were going to devote your life to, she thought. Suddenly the disparity between them could not have been more clear.

He wondered at the sudden uneasiness he saw on her face. 

She saw him looking and smiled brightly. “It must be wonderful to know what you want to do with your life, even if circumstances force you to change those plans. I just sort of bash about, stumbling into things.”

“And yet you do so much good.” 

She laughed again. “I hardly think so.”

“No?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve helped me. You’ve helped the miners at the Bone Pit.”

Her mouth fell open. “How in the world did you hear about that?”

“The miners tell tales of you.” His eyes went unbidden to her mouth and quickly flashed up to her eyes again.

She hadn’t noticed. “Well don’t be too impressed. It really was a very small dragon.”

“A dragon?” He stopped and stared at her.

“Yes.” She frowned at his confusion. “Wasn’t that you were talking about?”

“No. I was talking about owning the mine, and helping the refugees.”

“Oh, that.” She dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “That was easy. I thought you meant the dragons.”

“Dragons, plural?” 

“Not really. One dragon. A few drakes. A handful of dragonlings. Far too many spiders.” She shuddered at the thought. “I hate spiders.” She said emphatically.

He stared at her for a moment and then began laughing, a hearty, genuine, uncontrolled laugh. And he’d worried about her punching a slaver in the Undercity. “You really are the most extraordinary person, Hawke.”

She smiled almost shyly, not sure what she had said that had entertained him so. “I’m really not.” 

He just smiled and shook his head as they continued walking. A dragon.

They passed by another series of workrooms in a comfortable silence. At the end of the hallway, he held the door open for her and guided her into the Chantry proper. “Are you still collecting for your expedition?” he asked

She nodded. “We are. We’re getting close I think. Brother Plinth’s reward was so generous...” Her voice trailed off and she frowned as she tried to do the mental math. No. Could that be right? She tried adding the numbers again.

Sebastian looked down at her, noting the frown. “Is something wrong?” 

“I’m trying to add something up and I must be getting it wrong. I’ve always been hopeless when it comes to sums.” She stopped and pulled out the handful of coins Brother Plinth had given her and counted them again. Her frown deepened.

“Perhaps I could help?” he offered. 

“46 sovereigns, 77 silver, plus three sovereigns from Brother Plinth, plus…” She reached into a different pocket and quickly pulled out another much grimier handful of coins. “26 silver and 13 coppers.” She looked up at him expectantly.

“Fifty sovereigns, 3 silver and 13 coppers.” He said automatically. He glanced at her. She looked absolutely stunned. “Hawke are you all right?”

“Fifty sovereigns.” She whispered. She looked up at him, and suddenly her face lit up in joyful smile. She flung herself at him, her arms tight around his neck laughing elatedly. He caught her without thinking, and immediately wondered how he had ever managed without the feel of her in his arms. His arms tightened around her. Sweet Andraste, he thought, just holding her. The difference in their heights left her legs dangling.

She seemed to suddenly realize what she was doing. “Maker, I’m sorry.” She said pulling away and dropping to the ground. He let her go but couldn't quite take his hands away, keeping them loosely around her, somewhere near her shoulder blades, even as her hands rested lightly on his chest. “I’m a mannerless barbarian, my mother’s constantly reminding me of it. It’s just, we’ve got it. The money for the expedition. We’ve been trying for months, and now I’ve got it, thanks to you. You can't imagine what this means.” She gave him a brilliant smile. 

Her joy was too genuine not to be contagious and he found himself grinning back at her. She suddenly reached her hands up to the sides of his neck, and pulled him down to her, pressing her lips to his cheek. “Thank you. Thank you so much. For everything.” She whispered at his ear. She stayed there for just a second savoring the feel of him. And then she pulled quickly away, and was running toward the entrance yelling, “Carver! Carver, we’ve got it!” even before she had opened the door. He had only a glimpse of her flinging herself at her brother, even more enthusiastically than she had at him. “We’ve got the funds!” 

The door closed behind her, leaving him alone in the dimmer light of the Chantry, feeling suddenly isolated, shut off from the world. He tried not to raise his hand to his face, to touch the spot on his cheek where the press of her lips seemed to leave a brand on his face, still feeling the caress of her breath when she had whispered her thanks, suddenly all too mindful of the sisters’ surreptitious glances. He stared at the doors that separated them. He could hear Hawke’s laughter, her brother’s whoop of glee, the sounds muffled and growing quieter as they left.

He needed to pray. A lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone else ever notice that the person you turn the remains of Sister Plinth into is Brother Plinth? I thought it needed an explanation.


	20. The Magistrate's Vengeance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke's failing to complete a job as instructed has unintended consequences.

Carver, Isabela and Hawke came running down the Chantry stairs eager to head Lowtown and tell Varric the good news. All were grinning broadly, Hawke was still laughing in delight. Finally. Finally they could do something. She felt like they’d been in limbo for so long, prevented from moving forward, from changing things. And now finally they could. She felt positively drunk with relief.

“This calls for a party.” Announced Isabela, a gleam in her dark eyes.

“You think everything calls for a party.” Said Hawke, but she flung her arm around Isabela’s waist and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “But in this case I think you may be right. And I,” she announced grandly, “am going to drink myself silly.” 

“Oh, great.” Said Carver rolling his eyes, though he was still grinning. He couldn’t believe that stupid chest had gotten them three sovereigns, no matter how many times his sister rubbed it in his face.

Isabela reached over and gave him a light punch on the arm. “Hey, let your sister have some fun.”

“You haven’t seen her when she’s really drunk.” Was his only comment.

Hawke just laughed so merrily that Isabela couldn’t help joining in. They were still laughing as they walked past the Chanter’s Board and were interrupted by a man’s voice. 

Cold. Hard. Used to being obeyed. “You there, Fereldan. I wish to talk to you.” 

Hawke stopped and turned slowly, one delicate brow arched. The way he had said Fereldan made it sound like a bad smell. From the expression on his face, it seemed like the last thing he really wanted to do was be forced to speak with her. She frowned, looking at him more closely. She’d seen him before. Where?

“I am Magistrate Vanard.” He looked her up and down, a rather dubious expression on his face. “You’ve built quite a reputation in a relatively short period of time.” His look made it plain he found nothing in her appearance to explain that.

Though she’d seen the same look on countless faces (usually accompanied by a disbelieving, _you can’t be Hawke_ ) this time she was unaccountably irritated by it. “And?” she asked curtly.

A look of annoyance flashed briefly. “And I find myself in need of someone with your special talents.”

Hawke lips curved slightly at his words. Special talents, indeed. Nobles, she thought. They could never just come right out and ask you to kill something. “I’m assuming you don’t mean my ability to juggle small rodents to Orlesian ballads.” She said, all wide eyed innocence. Carver and Isabela both snorted with laughter behind her and she couldn’t keep the grin off her own face.

The Magistrate, on the other hand, was entirely unamused. “If that is your only skill then I have been sadly misinformed. I have need of your sword. Not…” He seemed to shudder at her words. “whatever it was you just described.” 

She tried, though not very hard, to hide the smirk on her face. So, as stuffy and uptight as he’d first appeared then. “And just what is it you need my sword to do?” She asked in the same playful manner, mostly because she knew it would irritate him.

His frown deepened as if he couldn’t quite decide if he wanted to proceed. “A man I sentenced to a life in prison has escaped. My men have tracked him to a ruin just outside the city. Bring him back. Alive.” His face was guarded, unreadable. He was hiding something. 

She gave him a knowing smile. “That sounds a little too easy. There’s something in the ruins, isn’t there?” she asked with a small tilt of her head.

He looked at her more carefully. There was something in those eyes now that belied her youthful appearance. Perhaps Harimann hadn’t misrepresented her skill. “There is.” He said curtly. “I don’t know what, but it’s gone through half a squadron of men.” Nabil, the head of his guard had sent word this morning, asking how he should proceed. Magistrate Vanard had been considering the question when he’d seen her raucously making her way through the Chantry plaza. It had seemed serendipitous. 

Hawke watched him closely. There was more he wasn’t telling her. She could just feel it. “You could send more men.” She suggested. If her year with Meeran had taught her anything it was to be wary of jobs where you weren’t given all the facts. 

“No.” the magistrate said abruptly. “These men gossip like fishwives. The fewer that know about this, the better.” 

“Wouldn’t it be easier just to seal up the ruins and let whatever’s in there eat him?” she asked. 

A look of true anger from him. “I want justice, not revenge.” He said angrily.

Interesting. Most in Kirkwall went straight for the revenge. She looked carefully at him. If he meant that it meant he was one of the good ones, a man in power who truly believed in the law. Lord Harimann’s office, she suddenly realized. That was where she’d seen him. The realization made her a little more inclined to trust him. Or at least more inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.

They had the funds for the expedition. Did they really need this job? They could use the money to get Carver some new equipment, she thought. Some proper armor or a better sword, though he seemed remarkably fond of that overgrown carving knife he toted around.

When the Magistrate spoke it was with that cold, dispassionate, authoritative voice. “Do this and not only will you be paid, but you’ll have the gratitude of a city magistrate. Useful for a penniless refugee, wouldn’t you say?”

Meeran, she thought suddenly. If they had this magistrate on their side perhaps Meeran could be dealt with within the bounds of the law. The job still seemed too simple, but she found herself agreeing to take it. 

Retrieve the prisoner. Get paid. Have a party. Get drunk. It was turning out to be a good day. For a day in Kirkwall, anyway.

 

It was getting dark when Guardsman Nabil arrived at the Keep and made his way to the Magistrate’s chambers. He stood, staring at the door, dreading what he was about to do. A cold sweat was running down the back of his thick neck. The best he was hoping for was losing his job. Maker’s Ass. He’d be happy if he didn’t end up jail. He set his mouth in a firm line. Man up, Nabil, he ordered himself, and knocked hard on the door.

“Enter.” Said the Magistrate brusquely. 

Nabil walked in, shutting the door behind him. The Magistrate glanced up from his desk.

“Ah, Nabil.” His eyes returned to his work, though he continued speaking. “I expected you earlier. All went as planned, I assume? The elf is back with her family?”

Nabil swallowed hard. “Yes, Magistrate.” 

“And the prisoner? Back in his cell?” The “cell” was actually a well furnished, if well guarded, apartment in one of the less reputable areas of Hightown, not far from the Blooming Rose.

When Nabil didn’t answer right away the Magistrate looked up from his books. “Nabil? Is the prisoner back in his cell?” he repeated carefully.

“No, Magistrate. He’s not.” 

“No? Then where is he? Didn’t the help I sent arrive?”

“She did Magistrate.”

“And?”

“I’m sorry Magistrate. Your son.” he saw the warning look in the Magistrate’s eyes and quickly corrected himself. “The prisoner. He’s dead.”

He deliberately didn’t look at the Magistrate’s face when he said that, didn’t want to see anything that could be taken as a weakness that the Magistrate might resent his having seen later on. He fixed his gaze on the wall just above the Magistrate’s head.

After a moment the Magistrate spoke, his voice hoarse. “The creatures got him.”

Nabil wished he could lie. He’d kind of liked the girl. She had spirit and certainly more guts than he and his fellow guards who’d let the prisoner rape and kill elves for years now. He wouldn’t wish the Magistrate’s vengeance on anyone, but the wounds on the prisoner’s body showed that it had been a knife, not a creature, that killed him. “No, Serah. It was that girl. The Fereldan.” He kept his eyes fixed on the wall.

“What? Didn’t you warn her what would happen if she harmed him?” demanded the Magistrate, outraged. 

“I did, Magistrate. I told her, you go against the Magistrate’s orders he’ll have your head.”

“And she didn’t believe you?” he asked.

Nabil swallowed. “She said better men had tried, Serah. And failed. Failed horribly, she said.” 

The arrogance of her. A penniless Fereldan refugee. “You and your men are fired.” He snapped at Nabil. “Get out before I have you jailed.” Nabil all but ran for the door.

He would make her pay for this. The favor of a magistrate could be useful to a refugee, he’d told her. Wait until she found out what the displeasure of a magistrate could do. He thought of all Harimann had told him about the girl, going over every detail, searching for a weakness he could use. A grim smile curved his lips as the perfect plan occurred to him. He crossed quickly to the door looking down the corridor. Nabil was just at the staircase leading to the main hall. 

“Nabil.” He shouted. “Get back here.”

Bollocks, Nabil thought. Now what? He gritted his teeth and walked back into the Magistrate’s office to find him behind his desk melting the wax to seal a letter. He looked up as Nabil entered. 

“I want this delivered immediately. If my message has the results I desire, I’ll reinstate you and your men.” He didn’t look for a response from the guard, just stamped the melted wax with the seal of the Magistrate’s Office, and handed it to him. 

Nabil read the name on the front of the letter and looked up, perplexed.

The Magistrate’s face was cold. “Go.” 

 

Lord Harimann was sitting in his study trying to concentrate on the book in front of him. He’d been feeling vaguely unwell for the last few days, and even the simplest tasks seemed difficult. His daughter had fluttered around him forcing cups of tea on him, voicing endless concerns about his health until he banished her from the study and shut the door. It spoke volumes about his relationship with Johane that he found her concern irritating rather than endearing. 

He frowned at the sound of raised voices in the hallway outside, and suddenly the door to the study burst open revealing Vanard followed closely by his dignified butler, who was looking more agitated than Harimann had ever seen him. 

“My lord, I apologize. I told the Magistrate that you weren’t receiving guests but he insisted….” 

Lord Harimann took one look at his friend’s face and interrupted the man. “It’s all right Barnabas. Close the door behind you.” Barnabas seemed to regain some of his dignity and bowed before leaving the room and closing the door softly.

Harimann’s eyes went back to his friend. “What’s happened?”

For a moment Vanard didn’t speak, just stood there clenching his fist, his face a twisted mask of pain and anger. “My son is dead.” He managed to get out.

Lord Harimann’s stern face softened a bit, and he put a hand lightly on Vanard’s arm. “I’m sorry old friend. But perhaps it’s for the best.” 

The Magistrate pulled his arm free. “For the best? She killed him.” He began prowling back and forth in front of the fireplace. “She’ll pay for this.”

Lord Harimann’s brow furrowed. “Who’ll pay for it?” he asked. Vanard’s mouth was twisted into a cruel, satisfied smile that he didn’t like at all. “Vanard! What in the Void are you talking about? She who? Pay for what?”

“Your Fereldan slut.” The Magistrate snarled. “I hired her to bring my son back when the guard was unable. And she killed him. Killed him! My son! She’ll soon regret it.” Again that disturbing smile.

“You won’t touch her.” Said Lord Harimann surprised by the vehemence of his reaction. 

“She killed my son!” Vanard shouted.

“Your son,” Lord Harimann shouted over him, “Was a monster who should have been put down long before now. She just had the sense and courage to do something about it. Harm a hair on her head and I’ll make sure your son’s crimes, and your part in covering them up are broadcast to every corner of Kirkwall.”

The Magistrate just stared at him, his face scornful. “Do you think that will stop me? That I care about that now? Besides, you’re too late anyway.” He said with satisfaction. “I’ve already taken care of it.” 

Lord Harimann felt a prickle of dread. “Vanard, what have you done?”

“I sent a letter to the head of the Red Iron, the one you said was giving her trouble. I let him know he won’t be prosecuted if anything… unfortunate should happen to your Fereldan slut.” He spat the last word out.

Lord Harimann felt a sudden rushing of blood to his head. His hand groped for the armchair he had been sitting in and he sank on to it. If the girl were lucky she’d only be killed. Like most of Kirkwall he’d heard the story of what she’d done to Meeran in the bath. No. The brute wouldn’t leave it at just killing her. He looked over at Vanard, who was looking smug and satisfied. 

“You fool.” He managed to get out. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Do you know who she is?” He didn’t wait for the Magistrate to answer. “She’s Aristide’s granddaughter. Leandra’s daughter by that apostate.”

The magistrate looked shocked and then incredulous. He shook his head vehemently. “No. You’re making that up.” He couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t believe it. 

He had known Aristide Amell since they were boys together. They had been in school together, indeed, he had been Vanard’s first real friend at school. Though his family was noble, they hadn’t been wealthy, and most at the school had snubbed him for that, but Aristide had ignored them all, taking the shyer boy under his wing, introducing him to Harimann and others. Had kept him under that wing, later sponsoring him, encouraging his career. Aristide had ensured the introductions and appointments that had gradually led to Vanard becoming the most important magistrate in Kirkwall. 

Memories of those youthful days that he hadn’t thought of in years came rushing back. Thoughts of those evenings together when they were barely more than boys. He and Harimann, Aristide and his younger brother Fausten, in countless taverns and brothels throughout Kirkwall, laughing around a table, surrounded by bottles of fine wine, and eager young women, getting into countless scrapes and adventures. Before they’d had any real obligations. Before wives and children and all the disappointments they’d brought with them. When they’d been young and carefree, and everything had been a game, something to laugh at. When pleasure, pleasure of any sort, had been the only thing that mattered. 

The world had been so bright, full of excitement and endless possibilities. They’d been too stupid and naïve to understand how soon all that brightness would disappear, swallowed up by the bitter darkness of the real world. 

Aristide’s granddaughter. He looked up helplessly at Lord Harimann. “She killed my son.” 

The look Harimann gave him was pitiless. “She did what should have been done years ago, what you were too weak to do. And now you’ve handed her to that thug. A girl more worthy than any of our offspring.” 

The Magistrate slumped in the chair opposite Lord Harimann, and covering his face with his hands began hoarsely sobbing. 

Lord Harimann leaned his head back against his chair, trying to figure out what to do. He thought of her blushes when she’d confessed her lack of experience to him, but had still looked him unflinchingly in the eye. He thought of what Meeran and his ruffians would have planned for her. No. He wasn’t going to let that happen. His mind raced as he considered his options. The Guard Captain, he thought. She’d come over from Fereldan with the girl. He got to his feet, ignoring Vanard still sobbing in the chair, and rang for a servant. While he waited he scrawled a few lines on a sheet of parchment. He was blotting it as Barnabas knocked and entered.

“Have this delivered to the Captain of the Guard as quickly as possible. It’s to be given directly into her hands. Make sure she understands the urgency of the message.” He shoved the letter at him.

“Yes, Milord.” The butler glanced at the sobbing magistrate.

Lord Harimann glared at him. “Run, you fool.” He shouted.

The man ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you ever notice that the magistrate's threats if you kill Keldar never come to anything? Almost like Bioware just forgot about it.


	21. The View from the Vhenadahl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke has her final confrontation with Meeran and a night of overindulgence at the Hanged Man leads to some questionable decisions on her part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of blood and violence in this chapter, a lot of swearing and the consumption of a great deal of alcohol.

Hawke was in a rotten mood. She’d thought it was going to be a good day. They’d found the chest, gotten the funds. She’d kissed a prince (and her mouth did briefly curve into a small smile as the remembered that before the frown was back). They were trudging back into town, heading towards the Hanged Man and their much anticipated celebration. She and Isabela were walking side by side, followed by Varric, Carver and Fenris who seemed to be discussing tattoos of all things. She could only hope that Carver wasn’t going to try and show the way he could make that hideous mabari tattoo of his bark again. She might do some stupid things when she was really drunk, but at least she’d never gotten a tattoo.

Isabela glanced sideways at Hawke’s scowling face. “Why are you in such a pissy mood, Kitten?”

“I’m not…” Hawke started to deny it, and then gave up and sighed. “I just wanted to have a party and get good and sloshed, you know? Purely for the fun of it. And now, all I want to do is forget that monster we met today. Forget what he did to that little girl. Forget the fact I killed him. Forget the fact that I want to see that magistrate thrown in jail for ignoring his duty. And it doesn’t feel like I’m celebrating anymore. It feels like I’m doing it to forget everything. It’s taken all the fun out of it. And then I feel like possibly the most selfish person alive because after seeing all this crap, murder and rape and corruption, all I’m thinking of is my fun’s been ruined.”

“Your problem, Kitten, is that you think too much.”

Hawke frowned. “You think?” She realized what she’d said and started laughing. 

They were still laughing as they rounded the corner near Gamlen’s house, and Meeran appeared in front of them with at least twenty men. She glanced behind her. Isabela was edging towards the shadows. Fenris and Carver had pulled out their enormous swords. Varric had almost casually taken Bianca off his back. Five of them. Against more than twenty. She pulled out her blades, never taking her eyes from him.

“There you are. You’ve been keeping me waiting, Hawke.” said Meeran.

“You should have let me know you were going to call.” She said, her tone equally casual. 

He gave a low chuckle. “Such nice manners. I always liked that about you.” He wagged a finger at her. “You’ve been getting far too big, far too quickly, Dog Lord. I don’t let anyone who’s double crossed me do that. I told you that the first day we met.”

“Did you? I’m afraid I don’t recall.” She didn’t even recognize most of the men behind Meeran. 

“You’re going to wish you had.” He turned to his men. “Kill the others. But this one.” He pointed a finger at Hawke a cruel smile curving his mouth. “I’ve got other plans for her. This one stays alive. And when I’m done with her, all of you can have a taste. There might not be much left though.” The smile stayed on his face as Carver roared his anger and charged at him, only to be prevented from reaching him by at least half a dozen men. The rest of Meeran’s thugs charged towards Hawke and her companions. 

Shit, she thought rushing towards one of them and then dropping and sliding under his reach before leaping up and stabbing him in the back. Meeran had just stepped back, he wasn’t even fighting. Saving himself for later. It suddenly felt like ice was creeping down her spine. Saving himself for whatever he had planned for her. His men weren’t coming near her. He’d meant what he’d said. The others he would kill without hesitation if he could. She clenched her jaw. That wasn’t going to happen. She refused to let that happen. 

She ran and then flipped, landing directly in front of one of the men, immediately shoving one of her daggers under his rib cage right into his heart. He dropped like a stone, as she yanked the dagger free again. She felt a sudden burning flash of pain high on her forehead, as an arrow didn’t quite miss her, and heard Meeran shout out a curse at the man who’d fired it. She turned towards the sound of his voice but couldn’t spot him. She could feel the blood flowing freely down her face. She wiped it impatiently from her eye and ducked down, sweeping out her leg as she did so, tripping the man who had been trying to bring his sword down on Fenris. She slit his throat as he tried to scramble to his feet. She looked around frantically, trying to spot her other companions. Isabela had just thrown one of her flasks, the haze concealing her from the men who’d been charging towards her. She was disheveled but unhurt. Varric was on the stairs of a nearby building, rapidly firing Bianca. A new wave of foes was preparing to launch themselves from the roof above. 

“Varric! The roof. “ She yelled. He turned and fired a volley of bolts. She saw a streak of glowing blue light out of the corner of her eye as Fenris charged another group. 

Where the fuck had Meeran gotten all these men, she wondered wiping again at the blood that was still pouring down her face. Fucking head wounds. All they did was bleed. Where the void was Carver, she thought, still frantically searching for her brother. There. There he was, at the entrance to the alleyway leading to the alienage, just hacking through another bunch. She couldn’t see Meeran, but she knew he was somewhere there, watching. She saw another thug rush Isabela and the pirate went down in a heap. Hawke launched herself, appearing behind the two of them and brought her daggers down in the man’s back. She wiped the blood from her face again as she helped Isabela to her feet. 

“You look like something out of a nightmare, Kitten.” Said Isabela, as Hawke bent over, one hand on the wall, trying to catch her breath. The side of Hawke’s face and neck was almost painted in blood.

“Head wound. You know how they bleed. I’m fine.” A lie. She felt light headed. She looked up at the pirate. “You?”

“I could use a drink.” Said Isabela almost conversationally, readying her knives again. Another group was coming at them. Hawke quickly straightened and readied her own knives. 

“Sounds good. First round’s on me.” She charged towards the group, as Isabela disappeared into the shadows. The bleeding seemed to be slowing finally. There were bodies everywhere, but none were theirs and she began humming as she fought, trying to keep the rhythm, feeling for the first time since the fight began that they might be getting the upper hand. 

Of course as soon as she thought that, she heard the sounds of more armored men running, getting closer. Shit. She stabbed behind her, sensing rather than seeing the man trying to sneak up on her, and pulled her daggers free, stepping forward to give him room to fall to the ground. She turned, getting her daggers into position for this new threat, trying to ignore her growing exhaustion. She refused to have it end like this. Her mouth was in a grim line as the newest batch rounded the corner. 

Except it wasn’t the thugs she had been expecting, but a group of guardsmen led by a wonderfully familiar figure. 

Hawke’s mouth fell open. “Aveline?” The guard captain and at least a dozen of her men. “Oh, Aveline, I could kiss you.” She said straightening up, almost weak with sudden relief. 

Aveline took in the girl’s appearance, the blood on her face, and turning she barked orders to her guards and they attacked. The guard sped past her, Aveline bashing into a brute who had been bearing down on Isabela, another group of guards was running to help Varric, who had momentarily vanished under a new wave from the roof. Fenris was holding his own against a group of three. Two now she amended with a grim smile. She looked where she had last seen Carver. He was just bringing his sword down on the last of the group he had been fighting. He straightened, looking frantically around until he spotted her. She saw the alarm on his face at her appearance. Apparently Isabela hadn’t been joking when she’d made the nightmare remark. She grinned at him and pointed to where Aveline and her guards were making quick work of the remaining Red Iron. He looked and she saw him relax, an easy grin appearing, just before he gave a sudden grunt of pain and staggered forwards a step. He opened his mouth and a gush of blood came out, covering the front of his jerkin.

“Carver!” She screamed as he fell to his knees, dropping his sword with a clatter as he collapsed forward, landing flat, unmoving. She couldn’t see if he was breathing.

Meeran stood behind him, his dagger dripping with blood. Carver’s blood. 

For a moment she couldn’t breathe, almost as if it had been her back Meeran’s knife had plunged into.

And then Meeran smiled at her. 

She gripped her daggers fiercely and let out a scream of such pure rage and anguish that those still fighting actually hesitated at the sound turning to find the source. She charged at Meeran, seeing the fear suddenly appear on his face as she was on him, hitting him with such force that she knocked him backwards, landing on top of him, bring her daggers viciously down even as they fell to the ground. One dagger glanced off his cheek, twisting awkwardly as it skidded on the cobblestone in a shower of sparks. The other plunged into his eye and he gave a scream of anguish, cut short by Hawke’s pulling out the dagger and bringing the pair of them visciously into his throat. She screamed again as she pulled them out and plunged them back in, blood spurting hot on her face as she hit the artery in his neck. Meeran gave a wet gurgling cough of a sound, his body twitching grotesquely as he bled out. His remaining eye glazed over, his mouth dropping open as his head fell to one side. She looked at him for a second and let out another sound, too hoarse and triumphant to be a scream this time, and brought her daggers down again. She was lifting her arms for a third time, when someone caught her around her waist and pulled her off the body and back. She fought wildly, trying to get free.

“Hawke.” a voice growled at her ear. She struggled against his hold and felt the spikes of his gauntlet jab into her hand as he turned her to face him. “Hawke. Look at me. He is dead. You can stop.” Fenris looked down at her.

Her heart froze at his words. She looked up at him her eyes huge in her blood spattered face. “Carver’s dead?” she asked, her voice almost childlike.

“No,” He said gently. “Carver yet lives. Isabela has gone to get the abom…the mage.”

She looked confused. “You said he was dead.”

“Meeran is dead.” He glanced at the mercenary lying there in a pool of blood, his head almost severed from his body, his face a bloody mess. He looked again at the girl in front of him, covered in almost as much blood. Her eyes were dazed and her mouth had a pinched look he didn’t like. 

“He killed Carver.” She insisted.

“No. Carver is still alive.” He spoke slowly and firmly as he turned her so she could see her brother. Aveline and one of her guardsmen, the one they’d rescued that time, were turning him over gently. He let out a sudden groan of pain.

“Carver!” She yanked herself free of Fenris’ hold and ran to her brother sliding to her knees as she got to his side. She clutched frantically at his hand. It was warm. Her relief was cut short as he coughed again bringing up a mouthful of blood. She wiped it off his chin, frowning as her actions seemed to add more blood to his face. She looked at her hand. It was scarlet with blood. She heard footsteps and Anders was suddenly there kneeling beside her. 

He stared at her in horror. “Holy Maker.” Half her face was covered in blood, as if she wore a mask there. The other half looked as if it had been sprayed with the stuff and her hair was matted and dark with it. Her hands looked as if they been dipped in a vat. He couldn’t see the stains on the dark leather armor but he knew they were there.

She looked up at him her eyes pleading. “Carver’s hurt.” 

In spite of her words, his magic went out to her first. Aside from the cut on her head and some minor injuries she was fine and he quickly turned his attention to her brother. “Aveline, turn him to his side.” He put his hands on the wound. Not his heart, though if Meeran had been just an inch or two over. One lung. Torn up yes, but it hadn’t collapsed, and the cut was clean, precise. The lucky bastard. He smiled in relief. He could fix this. He let the magic come into his hands and felt himself begin to glow with it. The lung first. Then the muscle and flesh over it. He kept his hand there until he felt Carver’s lung working normally, and then slowly let the magic fade. He opened his eyes and looked at Hawke. 

She was watching him anxiously.

“He’ll be fine, Hawke.” he said reassuringly.

Her eyes went to her brother as if she couldn’t believe him. “Why isn’t he awake?” She asked in a small voice, still clutching Carver’s hand.

“He’s resting Hawke.” As if to emphasize the fact, Carver let out a snore. And Anders couldn’t help grinning. The boy had the consititution of an ox. 

Hawke laughed and then tears began to flow down her face, leave grotesque streaks in the blood on her cheeks. She wiped at her eyes, smearing it even more. “We should take him home.” She let go of his hand and briefly touched his face, as if to reassure herself that he was alive, and pushed herself to her feet, bending over as if she were going to lift him herself.

Aveline barked an order to some of the guard. They moved in and hoisted him up. Hawke turned and ran up the stairs to Gamlen’s, pounding on the door. “Gamlen! It’s us. Open up.” Behind the door, Boy was barking frantically.

There was a pause, and Gamlen opened the door just a crack his mouth dropping open at the sight of her, before Boy pushed past him, and ran down the stairs to where Carver was being carried up.

“Boy, let them by.” Ordered Anabel. She pushed the door open, shoving Gamlen out of the way as he continued to gape. 

The door to Leandra’s room opened. “Gamlen, what’s going…” She saw Anabel and screamed, and then saw Carver being carried in. “My baby.” She shrieked and ran to him. “What happened? Who did this to him?” 

“Meeran and his men attacked them, Leandra.” Said Aveline, coming in behind the guards. “He’s had healing from Anders.” She said, gesturing to the mage. “He’s going to be fine.” She nodded to the guardsmen. “Put him in the room in the back.” 

Leandra ran an anxious hand over Carver’s face, as if to reassure herself, and stood to the side so they could pass, worry plain on her face. She looked up at Anders. “Thank you serrah. Thank you for saving him.” 

Anders inclined his head. “You’re more than welcome, Mistress Hawke.” he said. He’d been intrigued by this woman who’d left her wealthy family to run off with an apostate. Leandra was tall, statuesque, her straight dark hair streaked with grey, eyes large and dark, her features strong. She was beautiful, or had been, but it was a cold, dignified beauty, regal rather than warm. Hawke looked nothing at all like her. 

Hawke had been busying herself in the corner, pouring hot water from a kettle over the fire into a pitcher. She grabbed a basin and a towel and as soon as the guardsmen had left, she tried to move past her mother into Carver’s room.

Leandra grabbed her arm. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. Anders was startled by the change in tone. 

“I was going to clean him up.” Hawke said.

“Don’t you touch him.” Leandra’s face twisted in anger. “How could you let this happen?” She demanded.

Anders expected Hawke to defend herself, but she dropped her eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry.” She said in a low voice. “There were so many. I tried…”

“You’re supposed to keep him safe.” 

“There were too many.” Hawke whispered.

Leandra glared as she grabbed the pitcher and basin from her daughter. “Get out. I don’t want to look at you right now.”

There was shocked silence. Hawke looked at her mother and blinked rapidly to keep the tears from falling. She didn’t say anything, just nodded and turned and left the house, pushing past Gamlen who still stood at the door. He lifted a hand as if to stop her when she passed, but let it drop, staring after her as she ran quickly down the stairs. He turned to look at Leandra, a bitter scowl on his face. “You can be such a bitch, sister.” He turned and walked out of the house.

Boy whimpered, looking toward the door and then back at the bedroom as if unable to decide where he was needed more.

“Leandra.” Aveline muttered.

Shame passed briefly over Leandra’s face, and then the anger was back. “She’s supposed to take care of him.” 

“You stupid cow!” Isabela shouted suddenly. “She comes in here, covered in blood, a lot of it her own and you…” She was almost trembling with rage. “Fuck all mothers.” She said succinctly, and turned, running down the stairs after Hawke. 

Anders just stared at the woman unable to believe what he had just seen. He could honestly say he’d never so thoroughly disliked someone so quickly before in his life. He walked over and took the basin and pitcher from Leandra’s hands “I’d like to check on my patient.” He pushed past her into the small bedroom in the back. 

He cleaned Carver up, hearing Aveline reprimanding Leandra in the other room. When he’d finished, he stepped back into the main room. 

Aveline was looking grim and Leandra was sulking, but she stood when he came in. “Thank you again, serrah…”

He cut her off. “He’ll sleep until morning. Try to keep him resting tomorrow. Light foods to eat.” He said, not bothering to hide his dislike of the woman. “I’m going to tend to your daughter’s injury.” He said, wondering if Leandra hadn’t noticed or hadn’t cared. 

She didn’t say anything, and Anders felt his anger grow. “Right.” He glanced over at Aveline. “Are you coming Aveline?”

“With that mess outside to clean up? Not for a while, if at all.”

He nodded at her and walked out, not bothering to say farewell to Hawke’s mother. 

Everyone was downstairs in the Hanged Man but Hawke and Isabela.

“Isabela’s getting her cleaned up.” Said Varric at Ander’s inquiring look. Anders didn’t say anything, just walked up the stairs, knocking on Isabela’s door. 

After a moment Isabela opened the door, whiskey bottle in hand. She glared at him. “About time you showed up.” She paused and rested her head against the door jamb. Without looking up she asked in a smaller voice. “He’s all right?”

Those Hawke siblings. They had the strangest way of working their way into your heart. He smiled. “He’s fine.”

He saw her whole body relax. She took a swig from the bottle, finishing what little remained. “Good.” She said brusquely. “She’s getting dressed. Get in here and fix her head before it scars. I’m going downstairs for another bottle.” She pulled him into the room and walked out slamming the door behind her. 

He stepped into the room. He’d never been in here before. It looked, well, exactly what you’d expect Isabela’s room to look like. A huge bed full of soft pillows, and a rich velvet cover. Discarded clothes draped everywhere, empty bottles here and there. There was an elaborate if somewhat shabby painted screen set up in the corner. “Hawke?” he called.

Her head peeked around the corner of the screen. Her hair was wet. “Anders? What happened to Isabela?”

“Downstairs. Something about needing more whiskey. Let me take a look at your head.”

“How’s Carver?” 

He was puzzled for a moment by how normal she sounded. And then he realized, of course. Never let them know you’ve been hurt. Physically, or emotionally, apparently. “He’s fine.”

“Really?”

“Really. Come out here.”

There was a moment’s hesitation. “Promise you won’t call me a ragamuffin.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“My armor has to be cleaned. I had to borrow some of Isabela’s clothes. They don’t fit right. Promise.” 

“I promise.”

She stepped hesitantly out from behind the screen. She wore one of Isabela’s tunics, though on her it came to just below her knees though the open sides revealed glimpses of her legs above her boots. The laces that gaped on Isabela’s more generous chest were tied closed, though the neckline fell far lower on Hawke, revealing the top of the soft swell of her breasts. She’d tied a shawl around her waist as Isabela did, though in Hawke’s case it held the garment in place on her far more slender figure. 

What made him stare though was the colors. He was used to seeing Hawke in dark colors, only relieved by the occasional white shirt, but Isabela had put her in jewel tones, the tunic a deep purple, the shawl a swirl of emerald green and vivid turquoise, echoing the colors of her eyes. Her hair was still damp and looked dark now but when it dried she would be a positive feast of rich colors, all against that glowing white skin. The tunic slid off one shoulder, and she shoved it back up impatiently. “It keeps doing that.” 

He just looked at her, making her feel even more self-conscious. “You’re staring.” She said scowling at him as she started braiding her damp hair.

“I’m sorry. I’ve never seen you in a dress.” She looked even smaller without the armor. No, not smaller. Delicate. Dainty. And utterly feminine. 

She looked down, frowning as if she suddenly realized what she had on. “Oh. Yes. Well it doesn’t happen very often.” Actually she couldn’t remember the last time.

“It should.” He said his expression suddenly unreadable.

She tried to laugh. “Right ‘cause I’d do so well in a fight in this get up.” A shadow passed over her face and she shuddered. She seemed to pull herself together and stalked over to the table where a bottle of wine was standing. She grabbed it by the neck and took a swig.

He walked over and took it out of her hand putting it back on the table. He tilted her face up, looking at the gash on her forehead. He frowned. “Arrow?”

“Arrow.” 

The frown deepened. “One day I’m not going to be around to fix this sort of thing, and you’re going to end up with a nasty scar.” He put his hand over the cut and quickly healed it, smoothing his thumb over it, making sure it was entirely gone.

“I hope not.” She said. “The your not being there part, I mean. I hope that doesn’t happen. Not the scar thing. Well the scar thing too, I suppose.” She frowned and yanked up the shoulder of the tunic again. 

He just smiled. “How much of that wine have you had?”

“How much is left?”

He glanced at the bottle. Very close to the end. He raised an eyebrow. 

She just shrugged. “I did warn everyone I intended to get drunk tonight.” She took the bottle giving him a look that dared him to object, and tilting back her head, drained it. She put it back on the table with a resounding thud. She grabbed his hand. “Come on. I need a refill.”

Varric’s eyes widened at the sight of her. “Why Hawke, you’re a girl!” He said, and chortled at his own words.

“Ha, ha.” She said, and grabbing a goblet and a bottle of wine, filled it to the top. 

Her companions exchanged a worried looks as she drained half of what she’d poured in one go.

“He’s going to be fine Hawke.” said Anders gently.

She turned to him with a too bright smile on her face. “I know. That’s why we’re celebrating. We’ve got the money for the expedition. Meeran’s not a threat any longer. Carver takes a sword through the chest.” Her voice broke on the last word and she faltered for just a moment before continuing, her voice ringing with false merriment. “And he’s going to be fine. Leandra’s darling boy hasn’t been killed by his sister’s carelessness.” She took another drink, draining the goblet.

“Hawke. You are not to blame.” Said Fenris frowning.

The same bright eyed smile. “Of course I am. If I hadn’t pissed off Meeran in the first place he would never have gone after us.” She reached again for the wine bottle, but Fenris took it before she could refill the goblet. She glared at him defiantly and grabbed the whiskey bottle from Isabela’s hand, ignoring the pirate’s outraged “Hey!”

She filled her goblet to the brim, the whiskey sloshing over the top as she lifted it high. “I’ll bet any one of you that I can drink this whole thing, without stopping.” She looked around at her companions. Anders looked worried. Merrill was staring at her round eyed. Fenris’ face was impassive as always. 

Isabela exchanged a look with Varric. “All right, Kitten. You do it and I’ll buy the next bottle, and forget that you stole that one from me.”

Hawke eyes lit up at the acceptance of the challenge. She brought the cup to her lips and drained it shuddering just once and then smiling triumphantly, holding the goblet upside down to show she’d drained every drop.

Isabela and Varric applauded. “Well done, Hawke." said the pirate. "You win.” 

“Do you know what the trick is to doing that?” asked Hawke, sounding a little more breathless. “The trick is not to breathe while swallowing it. I learned that at Ostagar, from a man named Gregor, or Grigor or something like that. He was this huge man with the thickest black beard I’ve ever seen covering most of his face.” She filled up the cup again as she spoke. “He’d decided he liked me. I think. He had a really thick Anderfels accent, and I only understood about half of what he was saying. Anyway, he decided he was going to teach me the ways of soldiers.”

Isabela snickered and Hawke frowned at her. “It wasn’t dirty, he was being nice.” She said in a reprimanding tone. “Anyway.” She said again. And the frowned trying to remember what she had been going to say. 

“He was teaching you the ways of soldiers.” prompted Varric.

She smiled brightly. “Right! He said, if I could outdrink a man twice my size I’d win their respect.” She took a large swallow of whiskey. “And he was right.” She looked suddenly sad. “He was a Grey Warden. So he’s dead now, of course.” She looked at Anders suddenly. “Hey, you’re a Grey Warden too!”

“Yes, I am.”

“And you’re from the Anderfels! That’s weird, isn’t it?” Anders just frowned more deeply as she drained the cup. She picked up the bottle and realized it was empty. “I’m out again. Corf!” she yelled trying to turn around in her chair.

“I’ve got this one, Kitten.” Said Isabela. She pushed herself away from the table and walked towards the bar.

Anders got up and followed her, grabbing her arm. “Are you insane?” He hissed at her. “What is letting her drink herself into oblivion going to accomplish?” 

She looked at him and her dark eyes were suddenly sad. “Sweet thing, sometimes you just have to get drunk. She needs this. She needs to get it all out, all those things she keeps inside. Everything that happened today. Carver. The way that bitch of a mother treats her. Better she do it here with us to watch out for her then on her own.” She patted his arm and turning away, continued to the bar.

 

Anders watched as the evening went on and Hawke got increasingly drunk. He’d been worried she’d get morose, but she was actually a remarkably happy drunk. She laughed uproariously at everything, and told increasingly incoherent stories, and hugged and kissed everyone at some point in the evening. She even hugged Fenris at one point, whispering something in his ear that apparently meant enough that he didn’t attempt to rip her heart out though the tattoos had briefly flared when she’d first flung her arms around him.

The other interesting effect that alcohol seemed to have on her was that she got increasingly foul mouthed the more she drank. 

She would make Oghren blush, he thought as they walked through the streets, escorting Merrill back to the alienage. Hawke had insisted on coming along too, which meant that he was going to have to walk her back instead of being able to go straight to the clinic to get some sleep. He probably would have been too worried about her to sleep anyway. 

He watched as she walked full on into one of the barrels outside the Hanged Man. “Fuck!” she said, rubbing her hip. “Who the fuck left this here?” she demanded.

“You’re very fond of that word, aren’t you?” commented Anders, steering her around the barrel. He was absolutely amazed she was still upright. She was going to have the mother of all hangovers in the morning.

She smiled happily up at him, her bruised hip apparently forgotten. “Fuck, you mean? Well, you know. If I can’t do it, I might as well say it.” She shoved the tunic sleeve back onto her shoulder. “And I am fond of it. It says what it means. Short, to the point. Conveys a myriad of emotions in one little syllable.” She held her fingers up showing how tiny it was and promptly tripped over a raised cobblestone. Only Anders’ hand at her arm kept her from falling to the ground. “Fuck.” She said, looking around. “Where did that come from?” She glanced up at him. “Am I very drunk?” she asked, as if she weren’t sure.

“I’d have to say yes.” He really shouldn’t find this entertaining, but he couldn’t help smiling.

“Oh, good. I hate doing anything half-assed.” She frowned. “That’s a fucking strange expression isn’t it?”

“I always thought so.” Piped up Merrill, who had been watching Hawke in awe for most of the evening. 

“Is it dirty?” Hawke asked, looking up at Anders with what he could have sworn was an entirely innocent expression. “I mean fucking would be hard with only half an ass. I’d assume it would anyway.” They’d reached the stairs down to the alienage. “I wouldn’t know. But it seems like something that would be best done whole-assed.” She gave a small sigh and started walking down the stairs. 

“Do you miss it?” She asked suddenly turning to face him but continuing to walk down the stairs. 

“Miss what?” He watching her carefully.

“Fucking.” She said brightly, looking up at him curiously. As he’d suspected she would, she missed a step. He caught her around the waist. The tunic slipped off her shoulder again, but she didn’t seem to notice this time. 

His eyes went to the suddenly revealed pale white skin of the top of her breast, almost glowing against the rich purple tunic. _Maker, yes,_ he thought to himself. His arm tightened momentarily around her, before he forced himself to relax and release her. He reached over and put the sleeve back on her shoulder. “I am not having this conversation with you.” He said firmly.

“Oh.” She looked a little sad. “Do you miss it Merril?.” She asked turning to the elf.

“Sometimes.” Said Merrill, seemingly undisturbed by the turn of the conversation. 

“Hmmm.” Hawke nodded. “It seems like something you would miss. If you’d done it. Which I haven’t.” her voice trailed off. “I’d like to someday.” She said wistfully. 

_Please let her find another topic._ Anders thought. 

As if in answer to his silent prayer, Hawke suddenly spotted the Vhenadahl tree, painted and lit up by torchlight in the middle of the Alienage. She walked over to it, peering up through the branches.

“Adraste’s Ass this is a pretty tree. It’s fucking huge. It must have a fucking great view of the city. Even a shithole like Kirkwall must look pretty from that high up.” She looked up at it for a moment, before lifting one foot, and tugging at her boot. She immediately fell on her ass, but didn’t even seem to notice as her foot finally came free.

Anders started laughing. “Hawke, what are you doing?” 

She ignored him and started tugging off the other boot.

He shook his head. What was it about being drunk that made some people want to take their clothes off. Oghren had been the same way, he thought, memories of the dwarf streaking through the Vigil flashing into his head. Maker he thought shuddering. He’d hoped he’d forgotten that particular image. At least if Hawke stripped it’d be more pleasant to look at. 

His mouth fell open.

Oh shit. What if Hawke…he turned to Merrill. “Go, get Varric and the others.” There must have been something in his face, because for once she didn’t question, or tell a story, or ask if it was dirty.

He turned back to Hawke to find she’d pushed herself to her feet and was examining the damned tree again.

“Come on Hawke, let’s get the boots back on.”

“Don’t be silly. I can’t climb a tree wearing shoes.” She was walking around the base of the tree as she spoke. She reached a part where the root sloped gently out from the trunk, and before he could stop her had clambered up it, seeming to find foot and handholds where he didn’t see any.

“Hawke get down here.” He hissed, not wanting the elves in the alienage to wake up. The tree was sacred, or some such thing. 

“No.” she said stubbornly. She was at the fork of the trunk now, where it branched off in several directions. She was looking skywards at the different branches. 

“Get down here.” 

“No. I want to climb.” She nimbly ran along one of the branches, now a good ten or twelve feet above the ground. She paused, when she reached a point where the branch she was on split into branches too thin to hold her. 

Good, thought Anders. Maybe she’d come down now, and if he was lucky she wouldn’t break her neck on the way. His breath caught in his throat as instead, she eyed a branch running roughly parallel but higher up. 

“Hawke! Don’t you dare..” he shouted as she threw herself at that branch catching it with her two hands, dangling for a moment, before swinging and pulling herself up on top of it.” Hawke and her damned acrobatics, he thought, willing his heart back into a normal rhythm. Except usually she hadn’t consumed enough alcohol to supply a small tavern. 

“What are you shems doing?” An outraged voice. He looked over to see a group of furious elves stalking towards him.

Anders threw his hands up in the air. This just kept getting better. “I hope you’re happy now, Hawke. Let’s see you talk your way out of this one.” He shouted at the tree. He could barely see her now, she was that high up.

“I’m totally fucking happy.” Drifted down from the branches.

One of the elves stepped forward. “Did you say Hawke?” He asked. 

An older elf, though it was hard to tell with elves. “Yes.” He said warily, noting with relief that Merrill had returned with the others.

“Small for a shem…human? With curling red hair?”

“Yes.” Did he know Hawke? That would help. Wouldn’t it?

The elf turned to the others. “She is the one I told you of. The one who saved Lia. Who killed the murderer.” He frowned looking back at the tree. “She didn't seem like one who would disregard the customs of the elves.”

“She’s very drunk.” 

“That’s no excuse.” Shouted one of the younger elves. 

“You’re the healer from Darktown.” Another elf said suddenly.

“Yes.” 

“You healed my grandfather. He wouldn’t have survived the winter without you. You help many elves.”

“I try to help any who need it. As does my friend.” He turned back to the elf who knew Hawke. “She’s had a rough day. She was attacked, and her brother badly injured. She overindulged.” To put it mildly. “She means no disrespect.”

Merrill suddenly piped up. “Is that Hawke up there? I wondered where she had gone.” She looked disapproving. “That’s very naughty of her, climbing the Vhenadahl.” She peered up into the tree. “Oh, she’s very high up, isn’t she?”

“Yes, thank you, Merrill.” Merrill could always be counted on to state the obvious. He peered up into the branches. Maker’s tits. How in the Void had she gotten all the way up there? She’d nestled herself into a V of branches and was looking out, one leg dangling, kicking back and forth. 

Varric and Isabela were laughing, neither of them particularly sober either. Anders glared at them. “You do know a broken neck is something I can’t fix, right? Do something.”

“Okay, Blondie. Don’t get your smallclothes in a knot now.” Varric walked closer to the trunk and looked up into the branches. “Hey Hawke!” he called out.

“Varric you should see the view from up here. It’s fucking amazing.” Hawke’s voice drifted down to them. “Come join me.”

“No thanks. Dwarves don’t do trees. You wouldn’t be thinking about coming down any time soon, would you?” 

“Not even a fucking little bit.” 

He turned back to Anders. “I don’t think she’s coming down.”

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to do?”

“I don’t see you coming up with a plan, Blondie. Besides, Aveline will be in here a minute.”

All he needed was the guard captain giving him disapproving looks. “Why in Andraste’s name would you have told her?”

Varric shrugged. “Carver isn’t available. Aveline was still here cleaning up our mess and she’s the only other person Hawke even comes close to listening to.”

The elves looked less angry but more nervous as the Guard Captain stalked up to them. 

“Where is she?” demanded Aveline. Several hands pointed skywards.

“Oh, for the Maker’s sake.” She muttered and went to the base of the trunk, careful not to touch it, an action noticed approvingly by several of the elves. “Hawke! get down here.” She ordered.

“Aveline!” Hawke called out merrily. “Where’ve you been? You missed the fucking party.”

Aveline cursed under her breath and turned to the others. “Who let her drink so much?” Varric and Isabela pointed at each other and Aveline’s gaze lingered on Isabela, the scowl deepening. She turned back to the tree. “Come down at once.”

“No. Shan’t. It’s pretty up here.”

“Anabel Esme Hawke, you get down here right now!”

Varric snorted. “Esme?” 

There was a cry of outrage from the top of the tree. “You said you wouldn't tell. Forget it. I’m never coming down now.”

“Stop behaving like a child and get your ass down here.” Shouted Aveline.

In response Anabel started singing a bawdy song about dragons and maidens and whether virgins tasted better. Varric and Isabela started laughing, whether it was at the song or at the frustrated expression on Aveline’s face, Anders couldn’t have said.

Aveline glared at them and turned to the others. “Right.” She said resolutely. “Someone’s going to have to go up there and get her.” She looked pointedly at Anders.

“Don’t look at me. I haven’t tried to climb a tree since my last escape from the Tower. The one where they caught me.” 

The green eyes went to Fenris, who just scowled. “And because I am an elf I am supposed to have such skills?” 

She scowled right back at him, and ignoring Isabela and Varric, who were laughing so hard now that tears were running down their faces turned to Merrill, who was smiling up at the treetop, humming along with Hawke’s song. She sighed. “Merrill?”

Merrill tore her eyes away. “Yes, Aveline?” 

Aveline closed her eyes and prayed for patience. “Could you?”

“Could I what? Oh, could I get Hawke. Of course.” 

Aveline turned to the group of elves which had grown larger, some women, and even a few children joining the group. “Is that all right?”

They seemed startled to have been consulted. After exchanging glances with the others, the elf who knew Hawke nodded. “Yes. And thank you, Guard Captain for showing the Vhenadahl and the elves respect. It’s not something your predecessor cared about.” 

“Jeven didn’t care about much other than a weighty purse.” Was Aveline’s only comment, as she looked up into the tree with a small frown. 

 

Merrill crawled into a little nook in a branch just next to Hawke. “Hello, Hawke. My, this is a pretty view. You were right.”

Hawke turned her head and looked over at Merrill, giving her a small smile. She had been very quiet since finishing her song. “Hello Merrill. It’s nice, isn’t it?” She looked out at the view again. Even the Gallows looked less foreboding, lights twinkling softly in a few windows. The moonlight reflected off the harbor. The water was still. The wind was rustling through the leaves of the Vhenedahl. It was peaceful. She needed more peaceful in her life.

“Everyone’s very worried about you _lethallan_.” 

“I’m fine.” Hawke said softly not turning from the view. 

They were quiet for a few moments and then Hawke spoke suddenly.

“Does your mother love you Merrill? Because I’m not sure that mine does.”

Merrill seemed to think about it. “I don’t really remember my mother. I think she did. I remember her singing to me when I was ill.”

“My father used to sing to us. He had a beautiful voice. Even when speaking. Rich and deep and warm.” She remembered the feel of climbing up into his lap and resting her head on his chest, listening to his voice reverberating. Her lips curved into a sad smile. “I miss him.” She turned back to Merrill. “How come you don’t remember your mother?”

“I was given to Marethari’s clan when I was small. My clan had enough with the gift of magic and Marethari’s had none.”

“How old were you?”

“Four, I think.” 

“You must miss her.”

“Yes.” Agreed Merrill. “Marethari has a horrible singing voice.”

Hawke looked at her for a moment and then began to giggle. And then laugh, laugh so hard that she could hardly breathe. Her hand slipped and she almost fell off the branch she was perched on. She heard cries of fear from below, and she might have fallen had not Merrill’s surprisingly strong arm caught her around the waist. She clung to the small elf, suddenly dizzy and very, very sleepy. Merrill stroked her hair gently.

“Everyone is worried about you, _da’len_.” Merrill said again. Hawke looked down. They were all there, looking up at her. Fenris was prowling back and forth like a panther, scowling at the tree as if it were somehow to blame. Isabel was frowning and whispering urgently to Varric, who actually looked serious. Aveline looked furious, but she knew Aveline well enough to know she only looked that furious when something was beyond her control. And Anders. She frowned. Anders actually looked scared. She’d never seen him look scared. 

Hawke leaned her head back against Merrill. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone. I’m fine. No one needs to worry about me.” 

“Of course we worry.” Said Merrill. “We’re your family.” She said it in a matter of fact tone, as if there were no doubt at all.

“My family?” Hawke repeated. 

“Of course. Not sharing blood doesn’t mean we’re not family. Varric and Isabela and Aveline and Anders and Fenris too. We all love you, _lethallan_. So much. When you hurt we want to take the pain away.”

Her family. She looked down at them all peering up through the branches, worry plain on their faces. Worry for her. And love. She could feel it, wrap it around herself like a bandage, soothing the sting of Leandra’s rejection. Family. Her odd, screwed up family that she’d somehow managed to find in this cesspool. A small smile curved her lips. She couldn’t imagine her life without them now.

“Merrill?”

“Yes, _lethallan_?”

“I think I want to get down now. Will you help me?”

Merrill smiled over the bright curls. “Of course, _lethallan_."

 

Hawke was abruptly woken the next morning by one hundred and fifty pounds of slobbering mabari jumping on her. 

She just moaned and feebly tried to push him off turning her head to avoid his dog breath. “Ugh, Boy, get down.” She mumbled and groaned as he jumped off.

Something else even heavier bounced on the other side of the bed sending a shooting pain through her head. She partially opened one eye and immediately closed it, shutting out the blinding light that seemed to stab through her head. She tried to pull the pillow over her head but it wouldn’t budge.

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!” Shouted a far too jubilant voice right in her ear. The pillow was yanked out of her hands. 

Her stomach roiled at the mere thought. “Whoever you are, fuck you.” She muttered, pulling the covers over her head. 

“Oh, that’s nice.”

Wait. She pulled back the cover and peered out, moving her hair out of her face. Carver was lying on the bed right next to her, grinning at her like an idiot. Like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t almost died last night.

She scowled and kicked with both legs, so he fell on the floor. 

“Hey!” he protested, laughing.

She reached for another pillow and threw it at him.

“Don’t you ever fucking do that to me again!” She winced and clutched at her head as it throbbed painfully at the sound of her own voice. Carver just laughed. She peered down at him lying laughing on the ground. “You’re okay, right?” she asked in a smaller voice.

He pulled himself up to a seated position leaning on the edge of the bed and squeezed her hand and she gripped it like she wasn’t going to let go any time soon. “Yeah. A little sore, that’s all. I hear you went on quite the bender last night.”

Had she? Memories suddenly came flooding back. “Oh, crap.” She let go of his hand and rolled slowly to her back and stared at the ceiling. The inside of her mouth felt like she’d been licking the floor of the Hanged Man. 

“Yeah.” Said Carver grinning again. “Aveline said you might want to go apologize to the elder in the alienage.”

The Vhenadhal. Crap.

“You asked Anders if he missed having sex.”

Crap.

“And you threw up on Fenris.” 

She looked at him. “I did not.” She denied vehemently.

“It was a near miss. Good thing he’s fast.” Said a voice from the doorway. She looked over. Isabela, carrying a tankard of something. “We were wondering when you would rejoin the land of the living.” She took in the girl’s pallor. “Though I can’t say I’m convinced you’re quite there yet.” 

She suddenly realized she was in Isabela’s room at the Hanged Man. She gave her a weak smile. “Thanks for letting me sleep here.” 

“Well, I figured you’d already puked up everything in you at the Alienage, so I was safe on that count.” She handed her the cup. “Drink.”

Hawke slowly pushed herself to a sitting position, trying to ignore the shooting pains in her head. “What is it?” she asked suspiciously.

“Just water. Anders said to drink lots of water. I have to say, Kitten, I am impressed. When you let loose, you really let loose.”

Anabel took a small sip of water. “I try not to do things half-heartedly.” She leaned back against the pillows willing herself to stay very, very still.

“Others try, Kitten. You succeeded beyond my wildest expectations.” Hawke just groaned, and closed her eyes.

Isabela laughed. “Varric’s sent one of the urchins to get Anders from the clinic. And Aveline wants to talk to you to get the ‘official’ story of what happened with Meeran.” She added. Her hand trailed briefly through Carver's hair, and he looked up and gave her an easy smile. She smiled back before she turned and walked out the door.

“Is everyone here?” Anabel asked Carver, groaning as he climbed into the bed to sit next to her.

“Yeah. Apparently you really had them worried last night. Lightweights.” He said scornfully, picking up the pillow she’d hurled at him and thrusting it behind his head. 

“You probably would have been daring me to climb higher.”

“From what I heard, you went about as high as anyone could.” 

“Well, it was a great view.” She said shutting her eyes against the light. Maker, between the fighting yesterday and the drinking her entire body was throbbing with pain. 

Carver was quiet for a moment. “Isabela said Mother was in rare form.”

“Oh, yes. Leandra outdid herself last night. Kicked me out of the house.” 

“You’re kidding.” 

She opened her eyes and just looked at him.

“You’re not kidding. Shit.” He looked guilty. “I’ll talk to her.” He said.

“No need.”

“Anabel.” He said looking at her carefully. But she didn’t look upset or hurt, just accepting. It almost made it worse. 

“Really. I’m not even mad at her. I’ve just had enough. I’m tired of trying to please her and failing. So I’m not going to anymore. It’s okay. I’ve got you and the others. I don’t need any other family.” 

She looked up at the light knock at the door, her face flooding with relief at the sight of Anders standing there, a little breathless, as if he’d run up the stairs. “Thank the Maker." she said in a grateful voice. "If you make this go away, I will name my first born child after you. I will name all my children after you. Even the girls.”

Anders mouth curved in a smile. “Seems a bit cruel.” He walked over and sat on the bed next to Anabel. He glanced at Carver. “How are you doing?” 

“Fine. Thanks. For the healing.” Carver said, trying to keep his voice neutral. Anders had saved his life. 

“You’re welcome.” He wasn’t even looking at Carver now, his attention fully on Anabel. He really didn’t like the way the man looked at her. He had his hands on either side of Anabel’s face and she was looking up at him. Utterly trusting. The man was a fucking abomination. He was dangerous. Why couldn’t Anabel realize that? There was a brief blue glow from his hands and the color seemed to come back into her face almost immediately. The glow subsided and he kept his hands there, his thumbs running across her temples. 

_Stop touching her._

“I’m not going to make a habit of this Hawke. Drink this much again and you’re on your own.” He warned. 

“I won’t. Trust me.” She smiled at him. “Thank you Anders. For everything. I’m sorry for last night. I’ve heard I might have been a bit inappropriate.” She blushed.

His fingers stroked against the flushed cheeks.

_Stop touching her._

“Don’t worry about it.” He said and finally fucking took his hands off her as the others came into the room. 

Carver didn’t like the look Anabel was giving him now. Shit. That wasn’t going to happen. No way was he letting his sister tie herself to an abomination. Not while he was there. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Hawke sings is "Do Virgins Taste Better?" by the Brobdingnagian Bards. You can find it on YouTube.


	22. Wrapping Up Unfinished Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke takes care of unfinished business before leaving for the Deep Roads.

Bartrand gave the girl in front of him a penetrating look. He couldn’t believe his fool of a brother had brought in another partner, and a nug-humping female human at that. His eyes went greedily to the maps she held. He needed those maps. And the money she brought wouldn’t hurt either, he supposed. “Fine.” He finally agreed. “Partners. We split it three ways, you, me and Varric.”

The girl grinned again. He’d never seen someone smile and laugh as much as she did. Probably crazy, like most humans.

“Partners.” She said, holding out a hand. 

Bartrand stared at it for a moment and then shook it. “If you’ve got any business to wrap up, now’s the time to take care of it. You can bring two people with you, no more. Get whatever gear you need together. We leave at week’s end.” He ignored their startled looks and stomped back into his office.

Anabel turned to Carver with a squeal of triumph as soon as Bartrand had left, flinging her arms around him and squeezing hard, laughing in triumph. “We did it.” She looked at Varric. “Thank the Maker for those maps. I don’t think he would have agreed to anything if we hadn’t had those to offer.”

“Maybe not.” Admitted Varric. “It would have taken longer, in any case.” 

She chewed on her lip for a moment. “Do you think he’ll bend about how many we can bring along?”

Varric thought about it and reluctantly shook his head. “I doubt it. You bring more than he said and he’s going to think you’re trying to take over the expedition.”

“Damn it.” she said softly. 

“So who’s coming along.” Asked Varric. He could feel Carver next to him getting ready to argue.

“Carver, of course but I’d hoped to bring Fenris as well. I figured you can never have too many really big swords when it comes to dealing with the darkspawn. So much for that plan.”

“Like I’d even let you leave me behind.” Said Carver. But he was grinning. Grinning almost as much as Hawke did, thought Varric observing him. It made quite a changed from his usual surliness. Must be something about those near death experiences. He turned back to Hawke. "And who for the second?" Varric asked.

"Anders." She said turning to face him, thus missing Carver's immediate scowl.

“You managed to talk Blondie back into the Deep Roads?” Varric was impressed. He knew the mage had it bad for Hawke, but he hadn’t thought she’d pull that one off.

“He volunteered actually. I was as surprised as you are, but I’m not going to question a gift like that too carefully. So that’s that.” She turned to Varric. "Let’s meet tonight at the Hanged Man, figure out what we need to get together.”

“What’s wrong with meeting now?” asked Carver.

“Oooh. Look at you all eager to go on your big grown up adventure.” Said Hawke reaching up and pinching Carver’s cheeks.

“Get off.” Complained Carver, batting at her hands away. Varric watched as they fooled around like a couple of kids. They weren’t all that far from away from it, he realized. It ended when Carver grabbed her and held her upside down.

“Dammit Carver, put me down.” She said try to squirm free.

“Say please.”

“You’re kidding, right?” She said outraged. He started spinning her around. “All right, all right.” She shouted. “Please put me down.” 

Carver dumped her unceremoniously on the ground. 

She glared up at him. “You know this isn’t nearly so fun for me since you started being able to manhandle me.”

“Awww. You’re not going to cry are you?” he teased offering her a hand up.

“Bite me.” Was her only comment. She dusted off her hands. “I’m going to stop by Lord Harimann’s, to thank him for what he did.” She couldn’t believe it when Aveline had told her of Harimann’s warning. Apparently he hadn’t been exagerating his connections if he had somehow managed to hear about Meeran’s plans that quickly.

“I’ll go with you.” said Carver.

“No. I’m going all by myself, blissfully free of any supervision.” She said with a smile, enjoying the fact that for the first time in weeks she could. “I’ll see you both later.” 

She turned and wandered off through the streets of Hightown, marveling, once again, at how civilized it seemed. She walked through the Chantry plaza and up the stairs, past Fenris’ decaying mansion, looking again at the directions Aveline had written down for her. Her mouth fell open when she found it. Apparently Lord Harimann hadn’t been kidding about his wealth.

She ran up the stairs and knocked on the door. 

After a few moments it was answered by an impossibly dignified butler. He looked her up and down before stating, “Deliveries are made at the rear of the estate.”

Hawke just smiled sweetly. “Good to know. I’m actually here to see Lord Harimann.”

The butler looked even more disdainful. “I think not.”

She put her hand on the door before he could close it. “Could you please just let him know that Hawke is here?”

He just sniffed. “Lord Harimann is not receiving callers today.”

Right. “I do know Lord Harimann. I’m not just trying to be a nuisance.” She explained patiently.

He gave her a disdainful look. “No, you are not just trying, young woman. You are succeeding.” If he’d hoped to intimidate her he failed.

She just laughed. “I like you. What’s your name?”

He looked suspicious “Barnabas.”

“Good to meet you, Barnabas. I promise, I won’t take up a lot of his time. I usually see him at his offices at the Docks, but it’s Sunday, the offices are closed, hence, my turning up here. Could you just let him know, please?”

“Lord Harimann is not receiving callers today.” Barnabas repeated.

Hawke sighed. “Could I leave him a note at least?”

“If you wish, serrah.” Said Barnabas in the same even tone.

“I don’t suppose you’d lend me paper and pen?” He just stared at her. “That would be a no, then.” She gave him an irritated glance, and then spotted someone walking behind him. “Alfred!” she called out happily. 

Alfred looked over at the door frowning before he recognized her, and then walked over. “Serah Hawke.” he said evenly.

“I wanted to see Lord Harimann, but my new friend Barnabas here tells me he’s not receiving.”

Alfred nodded. “His lordship is unwell, I’m afraid.” Barnabas shot him an outraged look.

Hawke frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. It’s not serious?” she asked. 

“It’s not for me to say Serah Hawke.” Said Alfred, uncomfortably aware of Barnabas’ eyes on him.

“Of course. My good friend Barnabas has kindly offered to deliver a note to his lordship, but doesn’t seem to have a pen or paper. I don’t suppose you might have such a thing?”

“Of course Serrah Hawke. Come this way.” Alfred said ignoring Barnabas’ outraged look. He led her into a nearby study. Lord Harimann’s study by the looks of it, thought Hawke, her eyes eagerly devouring the many books on bookcases that covered the walls. 

“There’s pen and ink on the desk, serah.” Said Alfred.

She snatched up a piece of paper and leaned over the desk writing quickly. She had almost finished when she spotted a small volume on the corner of the table. She tilted her head to read the spine. _The Vaels: A History of the Ruling Family of Starkhaven_. She smiled mischievously, and quickly added a postscript. She folded it and smiled over at Alfred. “I’ll just give this to Barnabas. I’m sure he’ll take it right up to his lordship.” Right. He’d probably toss it in the nearest wastebin.

Alfred's guilty look let her know he thought the same. “If you give it to me I'll make sure his lordship receives it, Serah Hawke.” 

She handed it to Alfred with a smile. “You’re my hero, Alfred.” She said playfully. He reached for the note and she let go of it just a fraction before he took it. It fluttered to the floor.

“I’m so sorry, I thought you had a hold of it.” She stared up at him with big innocent eyes.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Serah Hawke.” he said feeling rather gallant as he bent down to pick it up. She was really very pretty, he thought once again. He straightened up to find her leaning against the desk a sweet smile on her face. He couldn’t help smiling in return as he walked her to the front door, where Barnabas still stood, the same disapproving frown on his face.

“Take care of yourself, Alfred.” She said.

“And you, Serah Hawke.” he said with a small bow.

She grinned at the butler as she walked out. “It’s been grand Barnabas. Let’s do it again soon.” The door all but slammed behind her. She reached behind her and pulled the book on the Vaels out of the waistband of her trousers, leafing quickly through it before putting it more securely into the inside pocket of her jacket, and walked down the stairs, humming to herself.

 

Alfred knocked gently on the door of Lord Harimann’s bedchamber and entered.

Lord Harimann lay in his bed, propped up by pillows, a discarded book lying next to him. 

“A note for you Milord. From Serah Hawke.”

Lord Harimann, straightened up, looking anxious. “Serah Hawke? She was here? Unhurt?” 

Alfred frowned. “She didn’t appear hurt, milord.”

“Thank the Maker.” Lord Harimann entire body seemed to relax and he closed his eyes briefly. He’d been afraid… “You said she left a note?” Why was it so hard for him to concentrate?

“Yes Milord.” Alfred handed it to him.

_Lord Harimann,_  
 _Aveline tells me I have you to thank for her timely arrival last night. I don’t know how you knew, but without her and her guards we wouldn’t have survived Meeran’s attack. He’s dead now, so the threat is gone. I can’t tell you what a relief it is._  
 _The expedition I told you about leaves at the end of the week, so I doubt I’ll be able to see you before then, but I intend to come and visit as soon as I return to thank you in person. I’m sorry to hear that you’re unwell. (Alfred told me – Barnabas looked horrified that he’d let it slip – he’s a bit of a git, isn’t he? You should really consider hiring some people who know how to smile)._  
 _Use some of those resources of yours to get yourself well, and I’ll see you when I get back._  
 _Thank you. For everything you’ve done._  
 _Anabel Hawke_  
 _PS I may have borrowed a book from your study. I’ll bring it back when I return._

Lord Harimann smiled, wondering which book had caught her eye. He would have liked to have seen her. He was just so very weary. “I think I’ll sleep now Alfred. Tell my daughter I don’t wish to be disturbed. And for Andraste’s sake, don’t let her bring me anymore tea.” He said with a flash of his usual temperament.

“I’ll try my lord.” Said Alfred. He stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. As if anyone could stop Lady Johane when she had her mind set on a thing. He for one couldn’t wait for his lordship to recover.

 

Anabel made her way down the steps and glanced around at the Chantry plaza, now filled with people. The service must have ended. They did get a good crowd for it, didn’t they, she thought looking around.

They’d rarely gone to the Chantry in Lothering, the distance from their farm a perfect excuse to explain their absences. They’d only attended during the major holidays, when it would be noticed if they weren’t there. Mother and Bethany seemed to love it. She and Carver had always been bored to tears. The never ending prayers, the doom and gloom, people going on and on asking for blessings and offering ridiculously overblown thanks for the smallest of things. 

Hawke stopped walking and stared up at the building. Maybe.... She ran quickly up the stairs before she could think too much about it. 

She hesitated for a moment in front of the huge Chantry doors before walking in. A wave of incense from the service hit her immediately and she couldn’t help coughing, earning her reprimanding look from the sister by the entrance. _What in the Void am I doing in here?_ , she wondered. Offering a prayer of thanks had seemed like a good idea when she’d been standing in the plaza, but now that she was here she didn’t know quite how to proceed. 

She walked slowly towards the back, glancing up at the statue of Andraste that never failed to intimidate her. She looked down at the lit candles on the ground. You lit a candle and said a prayer. That was how it had worked in Lothering. Not that she’d ever done it. But everything had just been lying around in Lothering, easy to find. She had no idea where they kept things here. If it were different. 

_This was a stupid idea_. She shook her head and turned around, heading for the door. 

_Coward_ said a little voice in her head. She frowned. She wasn’t scared. Not exactly. Intimidated as all get out, maybe. 

She turned around again and walked towards the back of the nave. There were some people there lighting candles, kneeling and praying in front of them. They must have gotten them somewhere. She took a few steps forward, peering around. There was a table with an open box on top of it. Was that it? She walked over. Filled with red candles. For prayers? Or were these used for something else? She stared at them. There had been a donation bowl in Lothering, she thought. You took a candle and left a donation. There wasn’t one here. If she just took a candle was some sister going start shouting? And how did you even light them? Were there matches somewhere? She turned and walked towards the lit candles again. Did you just light it with another candle? That would work in Lothering, where the candles were just normal white candles, not these huge red cylinders, and everything had just been on a table by the door, including matches. They must be at the table with the candles. She turned and walked back to the table. No. Nothing. 

Maker, it shouldn’t be this difficult. Forget it. She turned to leave again, and paused, looking up at the golden statue and scowling. _I’m trying to say thank you. Do you have to make it so complicated? Is a little guidance so much to ask for?_

“You seem a bit perplexed.” The soft Starkhaven burr was right at her ear and she yelped and jumped putting a hand over her chest to still her racing heart.

Sebastian couldn’t help laughing. “I apologize, Hawke. I didn’t intend to startle you.” He had been watching her odd behavior since she walked in. She’d walked forward and back as if trying to decide something. When he saw her standing still, scowling at the golden statue of Andraste so fiercely he couldn’t help but go over to her. 

“Andraste’s Ass, you scared me.” She realized what she had said. “Oh, crap. I didn’t mean.” She’d said crap. “Shit.” She covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes huge. Sebastian was laughing again. She dropped her hands with a resigned shake of her head. “I give up. I shouldn’t be allowed to speak to civilized people.” 

“They’re only words Hawke. You have said anything I haven’t said myself at one point or another.”

She took a deep breath trying to compose herself. “I doubt even you said them to a priest in the middle of the Chantry directly after Sunday services. I am sorry. I did warn you I was a barbarian the last time we met.” When she jumped on him and kissed him, she thought, blushing. 

Had that really been just yesterday? So much had happened since then. 

“Not at all.” He looked down at her. She looked different somehow. Lighter. Like a weight had been taken off her. “So, tell me. What was that little dance I just witnessed?”

She frowned. “Dance? Oh. You mean the back and forth thing.” She looked uncomfortable. “It’s stupid.” 

“I doubt that.”

“It’s just… well, I got in a bit of a kerfuffle yesterday. My brother, Carver, was hurt. Badly hurt. He nearly died actually.” Her voice wavered just a bit before she smiled up at him, her eyes brilliant. “But he didn’t. He’s alive, and well, and the person who hurt him, who was trying to hurt me, is dead. We don’t have to worry about him anymore. I was walking by the Chantry and I thought I’d come in and thank…whoever. Andraste. The Maker. You know.” 

His eyes scanned her. She seemed uninjured. “And what’s changed your mind?” He asked, trying not to think too closely about the ‘kerfuffle’ which had obviously been a vicious battle if it had brought down her brother.

She flushed in embarrassment. “I don’t know what to do.” She admitted. 

He frowned, not understanding. “What to do?”

She sighed, feeling like an idiot. “I know you light the candle, and say a prayer. But I don’t know where the candles are or if you use matches or if you can use another candle or if that’s somehow an offense against the Maker. Do I have to pay for the candle? And if I do where do I put the money? There are lit candles all over the place. Am I allowed to put it anywhere there are other candles, or is there a significance to location? Am I supposed to pray out loud? Do I have to use something from a prayer book, or can I wing it?” The list seemed to bring back all her confusion. She exhaled in frustration. “Never mind. It was a stupid impulse. I should just go.” She smiled at him. “Thank you.” She started towards the door again.

It had never occurred to him how intimidating it must be for someone who hadn’t been raised with the Chantry in their life. He couldn’t even imagine growing up like that. Even when his behavior was at its most depraved, he had always known the Chantry was there if, when, he might need it. Though he hadn’t wanted to become a brother, his faith had never been the issue. It must be overwhelming for her. He caught her arm as she tried to walk past him. 

“Not so fast.” He said, his eyes twinkling as he looked at her. “Come.” He took her hand and led her back to the table, releasing her hand and standing behind her, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. 

“The candles are here.” He said, indicating the box. “There should always be a supply, but if they’ve run out then simply ask one of the sisters or brothers on duty.” He reached past her and took a candle out of the box. “Consider this one on the house,” he said with a smile “but should you ever wish to light another, simply put a coin in that box on the corner." He indicated another box on the table that she hadn’t even noticed before, with a narrow slit in the top. 

She opened her mouth as if to say something and quickly closed it.

“Did you have a question?” he asked gently looking around at her. He felt as if he were trying to tame a wild deer, that if he weren’t very still and careful she might bolt suddenly. 

“Is there a set price? I mean donation?” she corrected herself.

“People give what they wish, what they can.” 

She nodded solemnly, a curl moving against her cheek as she did so. She looked so serious. 

“You can place the candle wherever there are other candles. There’s no special meaning or distinction in the different areas. The decision is yours.” He turned her gently so she was facing the nave. 

She looked around, Sebastian’s comforting presence at her back the only thing keeping her from fleeing. Not right in front of the dais, where everyone could see her. Not at the base of the statue,that felt too much like setting Andraste on fire. Perhaps up where she’d spoken to the Grand Cleric after the first time she’d seen him. She turned to Sebastian. “Up there?” She said hesitantly, pointing. 

“The Chancel?” It was where he always put his candles. He smiled and put a gently guiding hand at her back, steering her towards the stairs. 

“So, how are the plans for your expedition coming along.” He asked casually, trying to put her more at ease.

“Remarkably quickly, actually. We leave at week’s end.” He could feel her relaxing as she spoke of it.

“As soon as that?” It had been just yesterday she’d gathered all the funds. 

“I know! I didn’t expect it to happen so quickly either. Apparently the arrangements had all been made and all that was needed was some extra capital to pay for it, and our maps.” 

“How long will you be gone?” 

“A few weeks if all goes to plan.” They’d reached the top of the stairs. Candles were shining in all four corners. He felt her tensing again. She looked up at Sebastian, her uneasiness plain to see. 

“Where would you like to put it?” He asked gently.

She looked around and pointed at the smallest bunch of candles. “There.” she said. You could see the statue of Andraste clearly from that group. 

He smiled and led her over, stopping in front of the candle he himself had lit just before the service this morning. “There’s always a container of tapers where there are lit candles.” He said showing her. "Light one of them from one of the other candles, and then use that to light your own.”

“Can I ask another stupid question? Why candles?” 

Those vivid blue eyes were warm as they looked at her. “Why do you think?” 

He had to be the nicest man born, to be putting up with her idiotic questions so patiently.

“When we were small Carver tried to convince me that it was reenacting setting Andraste’s pyre alight, but that seemed farfetched even when I was eight. Someone once told me it’s so Andraste and the Maker will see our prayers, but I always thought that made it sound like they were horribly near sighted.” He couldn’t help laughing and she smiled at the sound. “I like to think it’s a way of adding to the Light? Symbolically, I mean.”

“Exactly. Adding our light to the Light of the Maker.” He handed her the candle. “There’s no need to use a prayer book, but there are some here if you’d like one. You can say your prayer out loud, or to yourself. It will be heard either way.” He smiled at her. “I’ll be just over there.” He turned, walking to the base of the statue and busied himself straightening up. 

She knelt down on one knee, feeling ridiculously self-conscious and placed the candle on the tiles in front of her, pressing it into some of the melted wax that had overflowed from the adjacent candle, making sure it wouldn’t topple over before reaching for one of the tapers. She used the candle next to hers to light the taper, and then lit her own candle, watching as the wick ignited and the flame began to glow.

Sebastian watched surreptitiously. She didn’t use a prayer book but he hadn’t really expected she would. She did things in her own way, his Hawke. He went still. His Hawke? He glanced over at her.

She was looking uncertainly up at the statue of Andraste. She looked once again like she might flee at any moment. _Andraste guide her_ , he prayed quietly. 

Well here goes nothing, Hawke thought. The golden face looked remarkably uninterested. _Look,_ she thought. _I know I haven’t really been your greatest follower. I know I break a lot of your rules. I’ll try and do better. But I just wanted to say thank you for last night. For Carver’s not dying. And for all the others not dying. And for letting me find them, all of them._ It was so improbable, the way she’d met everyone. She frowned not knowing quite where to go from that. _So, thank you then. For them. For everything._

She got to her feet and glanced at the statue again. Still the same expressionless stare. You’d think the Chantry could afford to hire a sculptor who could put some emotion into the face, she thought unaccountably irritated by it. The sun came out from behind a cloud as she looked, and shone through the window behind the statue, glinting off the gold, surrounding it, lighting it from behind, momentarily blinding her. She looked away and then back blinking, and for just the briefest of moments the face didn’t look impassive at all. She blinked again, and looked back. She frowned. She must have imagined it. 

She was still frowning at it as Sebastian rejoined her. 

He glanced at her face and then at the statue. “Is everything all right?” She had the oddest expression on her face.

Her frown deepened. “I thought…” She shook her head and turned to him with a brilliant smile. “Never mind. Apparently I’ve an overactive imagination. Thank you for your help with that.” 

He looked at her, wondering what she had seen. “Not at all. It is what I’m here for after all.” He hesitated for a moment. “I wonder if I could add my own prayer to yours?”

She looked a little uneasy, but nodded. “Of course. I’m sure yours will be much more effective than my bumbling attempts.”

He reached down and took both her hands, holding them between his own. It was an action he had performed many times when he prayed with others, but with her it felt different. More intimate. Less like the actions of a Chantry brother, but somehow no less sacred. He pushed the thought out of his head and concentrated on his prayer for her.

“Blessed Andraste, Bride of the Maker. We thank you for the blessings you have given us. For keeping us safe and well, and protecting us from those who would do us harm. Bless this woman, that she may continue to be a light in the darkness for those around her. Let her continue doing her work, as a leader, as a protector, as a friend. Watch over her and keep her safe as she begins this new journey. In the Maker’s name, we beseech you.” 

He opened his eyes to see Hawke staring up at him shyly. “Thank you. For everything.”

He squeezed her hands gently. “You’ll be in my prayers, Hawke. Come back safely.”

 

And just a few days later, she and Carver were leaning against one of the carts, as Bartrand continued what he obviously thought was an inspired speech.

“We’ve chosen one of the hidden entrances. The Deep Roads there will be nice and virginal, just waiting for a good deflowering.”

Anabel looked at Carver. “Ick.” She said making a face.

Varric snickered. “Now there’s an interesting image.”

“It’ll take a week for us to get to the depths we need. There’ll still be darkspawn from the Blight about. Big risks, big rewards.” Bartrand looked pointedly at Hawke.

What? Did he expect her to burst into tears at the idea? “Risks, rewards, what’s not to like?” She said lightly.

“Hmmph.” He grunted in response. “Get ready. We pull out in five minutes.”

She and Carver turned to their friends who’d come to see them off.

Carver pulled Isabela into a bear hug. “You be good while I’m gone.” 

Isabela grinned saucily up at him. “Puppy, I’m always good.” He tugged one of her dark locks and gave her an easy affectionate smile, looking at her as if he were trying to memorize her face. For just a second her grin faltered and she looked uncertain. She grabbed him and kissed him hard. “Go on, get out of here. I’ve got better things to do then stand around here all day.” She turned on her heel and left the courtyard, not, she thought, definitely not, blinking back tears. 

Anabel turned to Fenris. “Thanks for coming to see us off. I wish you could have come with us. We’ll bring you back a present. Something you can only find in the Deep Roads.”

“I believe they call that the taint.” Said Fenris dryly. 

“Oh. Right.” She grinned at him. “I’ll find you something nice, I promise. Maybe a nice darkspawn corpse to add to your collection.” 

Fenris scowled, but she just laughed and gave him a hug. Maker. It was like hugging a board, he was that stiff. She squeezed harder, until he lifted his hand and awkwardly patted her back. She pulled away still laughing and turned towards the others.

“Hawke.” She turned her head back to him. He was frowning, not liking the idea of letting her go on her own. “Be careful.” 

“Of course.” Another smile and a reassuring hand on his arm and she’d moved on to Merrill. 

“Have fun, Hawke.” said Merrill cheerily.

Only Merrill would say that when you were leaving on a trip to the Deep Roads. She hugged her tight. “You have any trouble you go straight to Aveline, right?” 

“I’m not a child, you know. I’ll be fine.” 

“Just in case anything happens. Promise?” Merrill nodded. She gave her another squeeze.

She looked at Aveline standing there absolutely straight in her guard’s armor. “And you, you lucky woman. You get to keep an eye on Leandra.” 

“I would have done that anyway.”

Hawke blue green eyes twinkled. “I know. That’s why I don’t feel guilty for asking you to do it. Take care of Kirkwall while we’re gone. Kick its ass if it misbehaves.” 

“I’ll kick your ass if you don’t come back safely.” Said Aveline, worry showing on her face. Anabel just laughed and hugged her, in as much as one could hug someone wearing so much armor. 

She turned to look at Anders. She’d given him that staff of Da’s, the one Bethany had been using when they’d fled Lothering. He’d looked dubiously at the naked woman on the top of it, but then he’d felt its power. 

She brushed the feathers of his pauldrons, straightening them. “It suits you.” she said nodding her head at the staff. “You sure you’re okay with this?” He looked a little strained to her. Maybe she should take Fenris after all.

 _No,_ he thought, _I’m really not._ He forced himself to smile at her. “I’m sure, Hawke.” She looked relieved and slipped an arm around his waist and gave him a squeeze, which made it all worthwhile, he thought. He slipped his arm around her shoulder, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, ignoring Carver’s scowl. He’d make sure Hawke came through this trip alive and well. 

“Who invited the old woman?” Bartrand suddenly growled.

Hawke glanced over. Mother. Maker’s ass. She slipped away from Anders and headed towards her.

Leandra flushed at Bartrand’s words. “Excuse me Ser Dwarf. I need to speak to my children.” She pointed at Carver and Anabel and moved towards them.

“Just great.” muttered Anabel. She opened her mouth to speak, but Carver spoke first. 

“Mother, no. We talked about how important this is.” Said Carver firmly.

Leandra ignored him, speaking directly to Anabel. “I just want to know one thing. Are you really insisting on bring Carver with you?”

“You make it sound like I’m forcing him.” Anabel protested. “He’s a big boy. He makes his own decisions.”

“It’ll be fine, Mother.” Said Carver. 

Leandra sounded almost frantic. “It’s not fine! What if something happens to you?” She turned to Anabel. “You I understand doing this. But leave your brother here, I’m begging you.”

Before Anabel could even question what in the Void she meant by that, tears had begun to well up in Leandra’s dark eyes. And here come the waterworks again, thought Anabel, shaking her head. It was a repeat of this morning when they’d said goodbye at Gamlen’s, just with a bigger audience.

Carver just put an arm around Mother. “Don’t worry so. I can take care of myself. I’ll be fine. You’ll see.” He gave her a gentle hug and she clung to him, before pulling back and turning pleading eyes to Anabel. 

“Leave Carver here.” She insisted.

Enough of this, thought Hawke. “I need him. He’s coming.” She said firmly.

“You’re so selfish.” Said Leandra angrily. “I can’t believe you’re only thinking of yourself.”

“Mother, I’m going. It's my decision.” Carver interupted before the two of them could really get going.

“Please, Carver.” 

“I’m going.” He repeated stubbornly.

Leandra looked at him and then flung her arms around him, clutching him desperately. He patted her back awkwardly. “It’ll be all right Mother. You’ll see.” Leandra pulled back and stroked his cheek before giving Anabel an absolutely frigid look, and walking away.

“Don’t worry about me Mother I’ll be fine too….” She muttered to Leandra’s rapidly retreating back. She sighed and looked up at Carver. “You so owe me for this one.” 

He slung an arm over her shoulder. “When we come back with that fortune she won’t even remember this.” 

“Family drama over?” demanded Bartrand stalking towards them. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Let’s get underway.”

Varric walked to his brother’s side, looking pleased. “It’s been a long time coming, eh brother?”

Bartrand nodded. “That it has. The Deep Roads await!” he shouted. 

And the expedition was underway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I talk about Sunday services. I went back and forth about this, but if the folks at Bioware talk about Tuesdays, I figure there can be Sundays in Thedas and it can be a day for Chantry services. After all, the symbol of the Chantry is a sunburst, right?


	23. A Week Below the Surface

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected betrayal leaves Hawke and her companions lost and trapped in the Primeval Thaig. Anders makes an interesting discovery about Hawke, and Hawke makes a personal request of Anders.

Anders had thought that nothing could feel worse than the Deep Roads.

He’d been wrong.

This Primeval Thaig, or whatever the Void that bastard Bartrand was calling it, felt worse. It wasn’t even the darkspawn that was making him feel so awful. It was something else. Something darker, heavier somehow. Deeper. He looked around at the walls that felt like they were pulsing with that red lyrium. Red lyrium. He’d never heard of it, never even heard it mentioned during his time in the Circle or with the Wardens. It felt wrong. He looked around. Everyone seemed to feel its effect. Bartrand’s thugs were keeping very much to themselves, off in a corner awaiting their orders. Bartrand and Varric were in the midst of an intense discussion. He couldn’t hear Varric clearly from where he was standing but it was all too easy to hear Bartrand’s curses, and even those had an uncertain quality as if he weren’t quite sure his arrogant blustering would work here. It didn’t make him any less of a bastard mind you. Varric was tense, something Anders didn’t think he would ever see, and had lost his easygoing manner, which was even more disturbing. Carver had retreated back into the surliness that he’d shown when Anders had first met him. Even Justice was wary, uncertain, content to retreat to the back of Anders’ mind, lurking there, hiding almost. Anders had thought he would have welcomed that development, but it only increased his own sense of uneasiness.

The only one who didn’t seem at all affected was Hawke. He looked over to where she sat cross legged on the ground in front of Sandal, teaching him a clapping song. Sandal loved it, getting so excited that he would start clapping in appreciation instead of to the song. Hawke would just laugh and begin again. Bodahn was still looking at her as if she’d been sent by the Maker, or Ancestors, or whatever to rescue his boy, no matter how many times Hawke pointed out that they really hadn’t needed to do anything, Sandal had done it all on his own. 

There was something odd about that boy, he thought watching him. No, not odd. Other. As if he were experiencing a whole different reality from the rest of them. He could well believe that the Circle in Fereldan had wanted to get their hands on him. Good for Bodahn for getting him out of there before they could.

Varric had finished his conversation with Bartrand and walked over to look down at the sloping entrance into the Thaig. There was a definite frown on his face.

Hawke watched him for a moment from where she sat, and then she pushed herself to her feet, tousling Sandal’s hair and giving him an easy smile as she left him. 

She walked over to Varric’s side and nudged him gently. “Everything okay?” She asked when he looked over at her.

Varric frowned as he looked down the passageway. “Whatever’s through here seems more intact.” He didn’t sound happy about it.

“Bartrand seems far more enthralled with this place than you are.” Said Hawke casually, giving him a careful look.

Varric shrugged, and even that small movement seemed more tense than usual. “Unlike Bartrand I wasn’t born in Orzammar. I wouldn’t even be down here if it weren’t for the chance of profit. This entire place gives me the chills.” 

Having someone else say it out loud was reassuring, thought Anders. He walked over to join them. Hawke looked up as he did and gave him a brilliant smile which immediately made him feel better. 

“Let’s hope it’s worth it.” Varric deliberately changed the subject. “Think we’ll find anything?” he asked looking up at Hawke.

She tilted her head as if giving it careful consideration. “More darkspawn? Rubble? Maybe bones?” Her eyes twinkled at him.

Varric gave a small laugh. “Yeah.” He seemed to relax a little, the corner of his mouth curving a bit. 

Carver came up behind them and Hawke smiled at him. He didn’t smile back and hers faltered a bit. She reached out a hand to touch his arm and he shrugged it off. Anders saw a brief flash of hurt in her eyes before she turned back to Varric.

He was still looking down into the thaig, not moving. “I suppose we need to go down there to find out?” 

Hawke grinned suddenly at him. “Come on. I’ll race you!” She called out and ran swiftly down the stairs. 

“Hawke!” shouted Anders in warning, but she was already halfway down. Shit. He ran down after her quickly followed by Varric and Carver.

She rounded the corner and ran headlong into a group of shades clustered around another of those stone golems, almost as if they’d been waiting for her. They lashed out at and she stumbled, suddenly weak and disoriented. _You idiot_ , she thought, deliberately rolling to the ground to avoid the next draining wave they sent out. She felt a blast of power from behind her and the shades fell back, giving her the chance to get to her feet again. Carver was there suddenly and she heard the unmistakable sound of Bianca being loaded, and the shades were dissipating, being beaten back. A flip took her directly in front of the golem and then she heard the sound of creaking rock and an impossibly low rumble of a growl, and felt it moving behind her. 

“Down!” shouted Carver, and she dropped to the ground, rolling out of the way as Carver brought his sword down on the now attacking golem. Anders had defeated the shade attacking him and turned, sending a wave of spirit energy at the thing. Varric was rapidly firing bolts, Carver just smashing it repeatedly. Her own daggers wouldn’t do much damage, she knew, so what could she do to it? It swung one massive arm at her and she ducked under it and stabbed at it with both knives. The blow jarred up to her shoulders. Nothing like stabbing a boulder, she thought wryly. The golem roared and turned to her, seemingly more irritated by what she’d done than by the others, and a small smile curved her mouth. She’d do what she seemed to do to all their enemies. Annoy it. Yes it was bigger, and stronger, but she was faster. She could distract it while the others did the real damage. She spun, and twirled, and poked, and stabbed. The creature would turn to attack her, and she simply wouldn’t be there. She could feel its frustration growing. It suddenly stopped and huddled down, motionless for a moment, before it sent out a wave of energy. Anders and Varric staggered back, Carver, who was closer, was thrown to the ground, but Hawke, who was smaller, lighter and only inches from it, was flung through the air, landing with a sickening thud against the wall of the cavern. She fell to the ground on her back and lay there, unmoving. 

Carver got to his feet with a roar and slammed his two handed sword down on top of the golem. Apparently weakened by whatever it had just done, it crumpled to the ground and lay there. When he turned Anders and Varric were already at Anabel’s side and he ran to join them. 

She lay on her back staring up at the ceiling of the cavern. “Ow.” She said looking up at the three worried faces. “Remind me not to tease the golem next time.” She pushed herself to a sitting position, wincing as she did so and looked ruefully up at Anders. “So, is this where you tell me that running ahead of everyone else while in the Deep Roads is a really stupid thing to do?” 

He smiled down at her relieved that she hadn't been seriously injured. “Do I need to?”

She gave him just a glimpse of her dimple. “No, I think I figured that one out all on my own.” She held up her hand and he pulled her to her feet. She dusted off her hands and looked around the now quiet chamber. “That red lyrium is so strange. It almost looks like it’s alive, like it’s growing.”

Anders looked around. She was right. It twined through and around the walls and columns like vines, giving everything a strange red tinge.

There was a doorway at the end of the cavern and Hawke walked slowly towards it. She pushed the door open slowly, and they walked into a long deserted corridor, lit only by the now familiar channels of molten rock at its sides. There was another door at the end, and she pushed through that one as well. The chamber beyond was empty. A huge vaulted ceiling, crumbling pillars and a massive stone staircase which led up to what appeared to be some kind of altar. Whatever lay on the altar was emitting its own eerie, pulsating light. No one spoke as they walked up the staircase.

Anders gritted his teeth as they got to the top. The thing on the altar was giving off a sort of high pitched hum that seemed to go right through to his bones. It glowed in strange pulsing flares.

“Does anyone else hear that?” He turned in surprise, to find Hawke staring at it with a small frown.

“I don’t hear anything.” Said Carver.

Hawke looked expectantly at Varric. “Nope." he said. "Why what are you hearing?”

Her frown deepened. “It’s like humming. But very faint.” She gave a shiver. “Maker, it goes right through me.” 

“You can hear that?” asked Anders, unable to contain himself.

“You hear it too? Thank the Maker. I thought I was finally losing it.” Her eyes went immediately to the idol on the altar. “It’s that thing isn’t it?” She looked at it more closely. It seemed to be a figure but distorted and twisted, as if it were made out of wax that someone had stretched and twisted while it was still soft. The figure's mouth gaped open in a silent scream. There were threads of the glowing red lyrium running through it, and the whole sculpture had been set into a sort of wooden casing, almost a frame around it. The humming seemed to get a little louder as she studied it. She shivered again. She looked at Anders. “What is it?” 

“It’s definitely magic. And not the good kind.” Anders said, deliberately not looking at the idol. He’d felt the increase in power when Hawke had examined it.

“But why would I hear it?” she asked, perplexed.

He shook his head. “I’m not sure, Hawke. Maybe you’re sensitive to magic.” 

“But I’m not a mage.” She said in confusion.

“No one really knows what makes a mage a mage. Why there are some mages that are powerful and some who can only do the simplest of spells?”

She laughed. “You mean maybe I’m just a really, really untalented mage?” 

“Don’t even joke about that.” He said immediately. The thought of her being carted off to the Circle was enough to give him nightmares.

“I wasn’t. I think it’s fascinating. So you mean the same way Carver looks almost exactly like Gamlen, but has Da’s eyes, I could have just a touch of his magic?”

Carver just looked sullenly at her. “Oh, thanks for that.” He muttered.

“It’s just a theory, Hawke.” Anders was regretting having said anything about it.

She tilted her head slightly and he knew she was listening more closely to the hum of the lyrium. The hum grew louder again, as if the thing liked that. “I wonder if the First Enchanter would have any thoughts about it?” She said almost to herself.

Anders grabbed her arm suddenly and she looked up at him, startled. “Don’t pursue this Hawke. Promise me.”

She blinked at the forcefulness of his voice. “Why not?” She seemed genuinely confused by his reaction.

“Maker, sister, are you really that much of an idiot?” demanded Carver.

She looked from one to the other. “What, you think they’d try and lock me in the Gallows or something?” she said laughing. Neither joined in. The smile fell from her face. “Sweet Andraste, you do, don’t you?”

“The Knight Commander isn’t known for taking chances when it comes to locking up mages.” Said Anders grimly.

Hawke gave a little shiver and swallowed hard. “Right. So no mentioning the humming to the Templars then.” She looked back at the idol. “Is it the lyrium? Is that why it’s humming like that? Blue lyrium doesn’t hum like this.” 

Good, thought Anders. At least she doesn’t hear that. His relief was short-lived as she added. “It makes more of a dull buzzing noise.” 

“An idol made of lyrium.” Varric said in awe. “Do you have any idea what this would be worth?” He had been staring at it the whole time, Anders realized, not even listening to their conversation.

“I didn’t know you could even cast lyrium like that. ” Said Hawke.

“You can’t.” said Anders. “I’ve only ever seen a lyrium ring, never anything as intricate as this. Maybe the red is that different. Or maybe…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

“Or maybe it’s whatever magic we’re feeling that did it?” Hawke finished for him.

“Yes.” He said shortly. 

Hawke walked over to the idol and reached out a hand. Anders’ jaw clenched as the humming seemed to get louder and higher pitched. He saw her swallow nervously and her hand hesitated. She'd felt the increase too, he could tell. Her hand reached out and scooped it off the altar, careful to touch only the wooden frame, and the sound abruptly stopped. He saw Hawke’s shoulders relax and knew his were doing the same. She passed it immediately to Varric, relieved not to be touching it anymore.

“Would you look at this.” Said Varric turning it in his hands. There was a noise from the bottom of the staircase and Varric looked down to see his brother walking into the chamber. “Look at this Bartrand. An idol made out of pure lyrium. Could be worth a fortune.”

Bartrand let out a low whistle, his beady eyes eager. “You could be right. An excellent find.”

Varric looked eagerly at Hawke. “Let’s go take a look, see what’s farther in.” He tossed the idol down to his brother. Bartrand caught it one handed and the humming suddenly flared again, louder than before. Anders and Hawke both turned towards the sound. 

“You do that.” Muttered Bartrand mesmerized by the idol he held. He walked out the door, not taking his eyes from the figure in his hands, pulling the door closed behind him.

“The door!” cried Hawke, and ran down the first few steps before sliding down the stone railing to the bottom, the others close behind her. She reached the door as it slammed shut with an echoing thud.

“Bartrand!” shouted Varric. “The door, it’s locked behind you.”

There was a low chuckle from behind the door. “You always did notice everything, Varric.” His voice was distracted, as if his attention were focused on something else.  
Varric stared at the door in stunned disbelief. “Are you kidding? You’re going to screw over your own brother for a lousy idol?”

“No! Not just for the idol. The location of this thaig alone is worth a fortune. And I’m not splitting that three ways.” They heard his steps walking away from the door and a faint. “Sorry, little brother.”

“Bartrand!” Varric threw himself against the door pounding it.”Bartrand!” He slammed his fist against the door one last time. “I swear, if it’s the last thing I do, I will kill that son of a bitch!” He rested his head against the door and mumbled. “Sorry, Mother.” He turned to face the others. Carver looked like he felt, like punching something, hopefully Bartrand. Anders looked grim, and Hawke looked worried. Worried about him, not about their situation. That realization didn’t make him feel any better. “Let’s hope there’s another way out of here.” He said bleakly.

“There was a door right behind the altar.” Said Hawke simply. “Let’s see where that leads.” She gave him a reassuring smile and turned back towards the stairs.

 

At first it was only shades they encountered. Then another golem, and a lot of shades. And then something new: Made of rock, forming itself into something that looked vaguely man shaped. They were brutal, mindless. But they could be beaten if hit with enough power, they discovered.

“What are these things?” Asked Varric, looking at the pile of boulders that was all that remained. “Blondie?” he asked looking over at Anders.

“I’ve never seen anything like them.” Said Anders. He lowered his staff, and ran an admiring hand over it. He’d been taken aback at the design when Hawke offered it to him, just imagining what Irving and Wynne would have said if he’d turned up with a staff topped by a naked woman, but it was so obviously a treasured possession that he hadn’t been able to refuse it. But when they started fighting the shades he’d felt its true power. He’d known it channeled spirit energy, but hadn’t ever had a staff that felt quite like it. Hawke had said her father had made this entirely himself, and had kept working on it, continuously improving it up until his death. Anders had done some tinkering of his own with staffs that he’d found, but had never made one entirely on his own. Why spirit energy? Elemental power would have been much more effective against most things you’d encounter on the surface. Spirit energy was the perfect weapon against anything demonic in nature. What had Malcolm Hawke expected to encounter? Not for the first time, he wished he could have met the man. Learned from him. He turned his attention back to the others.

Varric was still frowning at the remains. “I’d say they were rockwraiths, but it can’t be.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself of it.

“You don’t sound very sure.” Commented Hawke, coming up beside him. There was a bruise blossoming on her cheek where one of the creatures had landed a blow. Anders had offered to heal it, but she’d turned him down, wanting him to conserve his healing for more serious injuries, if they should occur.

Varric looked up at her. “Rockwraiths are supposed to be legend.” He said, his disbelief clear.

“Like the Primeval Thaig was legend?” She suggested with a small smile.

He grunted. “Good point.”

“What do the legends say about them?” asked Hawke bending down for a closer look. Her braid fell over her shoulder and she tossed it back. Just rocks now. There was no sign of how they’d held together. 

“Explorers excavating one of the abandoned thaigs found writings that mentioned them. Called them the Profane. Said they feasted on the gods.” 

“The Old Gods?” Hawke looked over at him with a frown. 

“Who knows.” Said Varric with an uneasy shrug.

Hawke picked up one of the rocks and turned it over in her hands. Just a rock, she thought again. “This just keeps getting more interesting, doesn’t it?” Was her only comment. 

 

They continued forward. Shades and then profane. More shades and then profane. Again, shades and then profane. 

Anabel kicked at the latest pile of rocks, before turning and walking back to where they had set up camp for the night. If it even were night. Who knew down here? She dropped to the ground next to Anders. 

“Has anybody noticed anything strange since we started seeing these things?” She pulled out her canteen and took a sip of water and made a face. It had the same stange metallic rock taste as all the water down here. As if water needed to see the light to taste right. She glanced over at the others. They were just staring at her. Her lips twitched into a small smile. “Let me rephrase that. Has anyone noticed anything missing?”

“Darkspawn.” Said Anders suddenly. How had he not noticed that? 

“Exactly.” She said with a pleased smile.

Carver still looked confused. 

“There haven’t been any darkspawn since the first one of those profane things we saw.” She explained to him. She turned back to Anders. “But is it the Profane or the red lyrium that’s keeping them away? What do you think?”

He sighed and considered the question before shaking his head. “I don’t know. If I had to hazard a guess I’d say it’s probably the red lyrium that formed the Profane. But that’s just a guess. I have no idea what the connection is between them and the darkspawn.”

“How does this help us get out here?” Demanded Carver testily.

Hawke looked at him as if she didn’t understand the question. “It doesn’t. I just thought it was interesting.” 

Carver was scowling at her, but he’d been doing that for most of the last week so she ignored him and turned back to Anders and Varric. “It does feel like there must be a connection between the two though, doesn’t it?” 

She didn’t wait for them to respond, just tilted her head back and looked around at the walls of the thaig, oozing that red glow from the veins of lyrium running through them. “The Profane are created by the red lyrium. The Profane feast on the gods. The darkspawn’s purpose is to find and wake the Old Gods which starts a Blight. Where there are Profane, there are no darkspawn. Are there no darkspawn because of the Profane? Or because of the red lyrium? Or because the Profane have feasted and there are no gods left here for the darkspawn to find?” 

Anders watched her, riveted. He wasn’t even sure if she was aware she was speaking out loud. 

“Could the red lyrium be of use in fighting the darkspawn?” She turned to Anders. “Can we make that leap?” She hesitated at the expression on his face. “What?” she asked warily.

He couldn’t help smiling. “It’s just fascinating to watch your mind at work.” 

She looked suddenly shy almost. “Sorry. I babble sometimes.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth and worried it gently. “Does this make any sense or am I completely on the wrong path here? It just seems like there’s a connection. But I feel like I’m missing a crucial part of it.”

He opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by her brother.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” shouted Carver.

Hawke looked confused and then annoyed at his outburst. “I’m sorry. Have I offended you by thinking too hard?” She asked sarcastically.

Carver flushed at the insult. “We’re trapped down here, being attacked by these things, we might never get out and you’re acting as if it’s some sort of puzzle to be solved. Like it’s entertaining. Like it fucking amuses you. I don’t even think you’re human sometimes.” He had to duck suddenly as her canteen came hurtling at his head. He looked at her in complete surprise. 

“You know what Carver? Fuck you.” She’d pushed herself to her feet and was glaring back at him her hands clenched tightly at her sides, her entire body taut with emotion. The switch in mood was so abrupt, so sudden, that all three just stared at her. “You think because I haven’t been sulking and whining since Bartrand…” her voice choked and she swallowed hard. “Fuck you.” She repeated. She turned and stormed back the way they came. 

“She shouldn’t be alone out there.” Anders got to his feet and followed after her. Carver just sat there, staring after his sister. 

Varric just looked at Carver and shook his head. “Human enough for you, Junior?” He asked.

 

Anders turned a corner to find her standing there, leaning her head against the wall. “He didn’t mean to hurt you Hawke.” he said gently.

She whirled around to face him. Tears were streaming down her face. “Hurt? You think I’m hurt? I’m angry. I’m angry and I’m fucking terrified.” She began to pace. “I’m only twenty fucking one years old. I’ve never been in love, never had sex, never even had a decent kiss, and I’m fucking trapped, not even in the fucking Deep Roads, but fucking below the fucking Deep Roads. We don’t know where we are, we don’t know if we’re even going in the right direction. For all we know we’re going further down instead of towards the surface. We’re running out of food, who knows if we’ll keep finding water. I’m so fucking terrified I can’t even think straight and he tells me I’m not human because I’ve managed to avoid collapsing into a hysterical heap on the ground?” She was gasping now, trying to catch her breath.

Anders just pulled her into his arms. She was shaking, he realized. He held her closely and she was stiff against him for a moment before suddenly throwing her arms around him and clinging desperately to him. He pulled her in securely and stroked her hair, murmuring soft words of comfort as she sobbed against his chest. He’d been so wrapped up in his own fears that he hadn’t even considered that she might be scared. She had seemed her usual light hearted self. It hadn’t even occurred to him that it was an act, that she was hiding her vulnerability the way she always did. You selfish bastard, he thought, remembering the first time he had gone into the Deep Roads. He’d been scared shitless, and he hadn’t been trapped and lost. How much more terrifying must it be for her? At least he’d been here before. At least he could sense the darkspawn. She was down here blind. She clung desperately to him, almost burrowing against him. He wouldn’t let her end down here, killed by darkspawn, or worse yet captured. An icy chill went through him at the thought of her turned into a broodmother. Maker’s breath, he thought, as fear gripped his heart at the thought, and he held her even tighter. 

No. He won’t let that happen to her. She’s a thing of light and air. He’ll get her out of here no matter what.

He continued to hold her until the tears and the shaking had subsided. Even then, she didn’t pull away immediately, seemingly content to remain pressed against him as he gently rubbed her back. Eventually though, she stepped back a ways, and looked up at him resting her hands on his chest as if she still needed the contact. He smiled down at her and wiped her remaining tears away with his thumb. The bruise on her cheek was swollen now, spectacularly blue and purple. He sent out a gentle pulse of healing magic before she could object, and the swelling went down and the brilliant colors faded a bit. You could never really make a bruise disappear entirely if it wasn’t healed immediately.

“Better?” He asked.

She nodded slowly. The fear was gone, and she seemed in control again. She looked so solemn though, he thought. Her eyes seemed to search his face for a moment before she spoke.

“I need to ask something of you.” She said, but then she shook her head. “No. That’s not right. Not need. I want something. An unimportant, entirely selfish something. But I want it.”

Anders looked at her, uncertain where she was heading.

She looked him directly in the eye. “I want to be kissed.”

She always managed to surprise him. His hands fell to his sides and he took a step back from her. She blushed and looked away, but continued speaking, a little too quickly. 

“I’ve only ever been kissed once. I was sixteen. It was wet and slobbery and he smelled of onions. It wasn’t even awful. It was…” She seemed to search for the right word. “Boring. It was absolutely boring. I just stood there wondering when he would be done. And then I found out afterwards that he had done it on a bet. He hadn’t even wanted to kiss me.” She shook her head at the memory before glancing up at him. “I never told anyone that part of it. It was too humiliating. But if I’m going to die down here, I at least want to know what a real kiss feels like before I do.”

“Hawke, I…” he began warily, but she interrupted him.

“I understand that you won’t get involved with anyone. I do. I think it’s amazingly selfless of you, actually. And I’m not asking that of you, truly I’m not. It’s not a matter of ‘take me now so I don’t die a virgin’.” She still wasn’t looking directly at him. “I just want a kiss. I want to know what it feels like to be thoroughly kissed by someone who wants to kiss me.” Her cheeks were now bright pink, but she didn't stop. “You almost kissed me once, that time in the Hanged Man, so I know you aren’t entirely repulsed by me, and even if it’s just a kiss from a friend, even if it’s just a pity kiss, it has to be better than that first kiss.” She said the words lightly and chanced a glance up at him as she spoke, and he saw that that careful mask she always kept in place had slipped a little.

It reminded him that she was just a girl. Young, romantic, insecure, wanting just a taste of something that she’d never had, that she feared now she might never have. He could see the uncertainty on her face, how afraid she was he’d refuse her, even as her eyes implored him not to. She had so much pride, in spite of her easygoing personality. He knew what it must be costing her to ask this.

Could he do this for her and just step away afterwards? He honestly wasn’t certain. He hesitated for a moment too long and saw the mask coming down again.

“Never mind. It was a weird thing to ask, I know. I should go apologize to Carver for freaking out like that.” She gave him a slightly crooked smile, and started to walk past him.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her back towards him, forcing her head to tilt back to look at him. She looked confused at first, then wary, and then when she saw the look in his eyes, suddenly hopeful. There were smudges of dirt on her face, her eyes and nose were still red from crying, you could still see the bruise on her cheek, and she was the still most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“How do you do it? How do you stay so sweet? With everything around you, all that you see, all that you have to do. How do you stay so achingly sweet?” he asked, his eyes searching her face. 

Confusion filled those amazing blue green eyes. “I…”

“Shhhh.” He whispered. He cupped her face in his hand, and as he’d been wanting to do since he’d first noticed it he leaned down and caught that full upper lip between his own, feeling the fullness of it, feeling her quick drawn in breath. He gently pressed his mouth to hers. Just tasting, brushing his lips against hers, just exploring the feel of her lips.

She hesitated for just a second before he felt her tentatively answer the movement. Whether it was by accident or design her tongue ran briefly against his own mouth.

A low moan escaped him. Just that slight movement on her part and sparks shot through him. Without really being aware he was doing it, he backed her against the wall of the tunnel, and pressed his mouth harder against hers, parting her lips with his own, licking that lip, feeling as her tongue tasted his, hesitantly at first and then with more confidence, more pressure, one small hand curving around his neck, clutching into the hair at the base of his skull. He forced himself to hold back, not wanting to frighten her or overwhelm her. It was so sweet, tame by his usual standards and he struggled to keep it that way. A first kiss, he reminded himself even as he reveled in the taste of her, the heat of her mouth and the feel of her tongue brushing against his. It was soft, tender, not wild, or frantic or uncontrolled, but sweet Andraste, the promise of the passion that was there inside her, waiting like a door to be unlocked, and Maker, how he wanted to open it, be the one to teach her, to show her everything. She made a little sound deep in her throat and squirmed against him, trying to get even closer, and for one moment he almost let himself have what he wanted so desperately, not merely to kiss her or make love to her, but have her, a life with her by his side.

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. But he didn’t think he’d ever wanted anything more. With a willpower he hadn’t even realized he possessed, he forced himself to pull back, ending the kiss, but he was unable to help one last tug on that lush upper lip.

He rested his forehead on top of her head for a moment trying to relax, and then looked down at her. Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth even redder than usual, her lips fuller. Her breath was coming a little unevenly. She stared back at him, and her eyes seemed darker, the blue and green even more vivid than usual. She just looked at him, her lips parted slightly. She didn’t speak.

Her expression was unreadable. “Hawke?” he asked gently. 

She blinked at the sound of her name and ran her tongue over her lips, her eyes travelling briefly to his own mouth. “Golly.” She managed. She looked back at him. 

He tried to hide a smile. “You okay?”

“Oh yes.” The solemn expression remained.

“I can’t tell what you’re thinking.” He said with a puzzled smile.

“I’m thinking I should have tried for ‘don’t let me die a virgin’.” Her hand flew up to cover her mouth. She couldn’t believe she’d actually said that out loud. 

For a moment he just stared at her and then he began to laugh. Her hand dropped from her mouth and she suddenly started giggling and the sound of it was so incongruous from someone standing lost below the Deep Roads that he couldn’t help pulling her into his arms again. “You marvelous, amazing girl.” He buried his face in the nape of her neck and just breathed her in, “We will find a way out of here. I promise you.” He vowed.

Anabel let herself relax against him, knowing he had no way of following through on his promise but letting herself take the comfort he was offering. When she did pull back she was smiling again, a real smile this time, he noted with satisfaction.

She looked up at him, gratitude plain on her face. “Anders, I…thank you. It was everything I’d hoped a kiss could be.” 

He wondered briefly what she would have thought if he hadn’t kept such tight control, if he’d kissed her with all the passion he felt. But he just smiled at her and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “It was my honor, Hawke. Truly.”

“Come on.” She said resolutely. “Let’s get back to the others and find a way home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally caved, and admitted that Hawke and Anders have a relationship, though it isn't the primary pairing of this fiction, and I adjusted the tags accordingly. I really didn't intend that to be the case. Damn you, Anders. You always do this to me.


	24. The Way Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Bartrand's betrayal Hawke and her companions try to find their way back to the surface.

The next day was much the same at first. Shades and profane, everytime they rounded a corner, until eventually they found themselves in another of those huge vaulted chambers battling them in even greater numbers. They came from every direction. But they were battling rather well, thought Anabel wiping impatiently at her bleeding nose, as another of the Profane crumpled in a heap in front of her. Anders blasted a group of shades away just in front of her. They were getting good at this, she realized with a small smile. 

“Enough!” the voice was deep, echoing and otherworldly. “You have proven your mettle. I would not see these creatures harmed needlessly.”

They turned to see another Profane pulling itself together at the end of the chamber. It was bigger and different somehow. And given the fact it had just spoken, intelligent, apparently. It didn't attack them, just waited as they walked slowly towards it. 

“They attacked us. I’d say that gives us plenty of need.” Hawke pointed out.

It seemed to turn to face her. “They will not assault you further. Not without my permission.”

She tilted her head examining it carefully. “So they’re under your control? What are they?”

It tilted its own head, almost mimicking her movement and paused before speaking, as if it wasn't certain of what she was asking. “They hunger. The Profane have lingered here for ages beyond memory feeding on the magic stones. Now the need is all they know.”

Hawke’s eyebrow raised. “They eat the lyrium?” She looked around at the twining veins glowing red in the dim chamber. A small smirk curving her lips. “Sounds like a healthy diet.” She turned back to it. “And what about you?” 

Its head tilted in the other direction as it watched her for a moment. “I am not as they are. I am a visitor.” 

Hawke gave Anders a questioning look.

He shook his head. “It seems mostly interested in their hunger. It’s a demon, come to feed.”

Her eyes widened slightly at the news but she forced herself to turn casually back to face it. 

“I would not see my feast end.” The demon said. “I sense your desires.”

Its voice enveloped her and she found herself having to make an effort to focus her thoughts.“You wish to leave this place. You will need my help to do so.”

Her father’s lessons suddenly seemed to reverberate in her head. _Don’t deal with demons. Don’t accept their aid. Demons will trip you up every time._

She tilted her head, watching as it mirrored her movement again. She glanced back at the others. "Anyone have any opinions?" 

“If it’s a way out of here, maybe we should. I don’t know...” said Carver, his voice trailing off. 

“Do we have any other options?” asked Varric.

She frowned. There had to be another way. She couldn't be the only one who thought dealing with a demon was a remarkably bad idea.

“Don’t do it, Hawke. Demons will trip you up every time.” She looked at Anders in delighted surprise. 

“That’s exactly what Da used to say.” She said. She gave him a reassuring smile before turning back to the demon. “Why do we need your aid?” she asked, her tone almost conversational.

Anders throat tightened in fear as he watched her. He knew what she was doing, had seen her do it with countless ruffians and lowlifes, coaxing information out of them without them even realizing it. But this wasn’t a Kirkwall thug. This was a demon that had been feeding down here for Maker knew how long.

“There is another door that leads to the paths far above us.” the demon rumbled. It moved its head again looking at her almost curiously. “That is what you seek.”

There didn’t seem any point in denying it. “Yes.” she said.

“It has been sealed. It cannot be opened without a key.” It paused before it spoke again, and when it did its voice was cunning. “I know where the key is. Do as I ask and I shall tell you.”

Her mouth curved into a smile. “Make a deal you mean?”

“Yes.” She could feel its eagerness.

“Hmmm. There’s just one problem.”

“Problem?” it repeated as if it didn’t understand the word.

She pulled out her daggers. She felt Anders pulling his magic behind her and smiled coldly. “I don’t deal with demons.”

She and Anders attacked simultaneously and Carver and Varric quickly followed. It was a harder fight than the Profane, but in the end it fell in much the same way.

Carver looked down at the now lifeless rocks. “Well now what are we supposed to do? This all part of your grand plan?” 

“Avoiding making deals with demons?” she asked archly. “Yes, that’s always part of the plan.”

He flushed. “Yeah. I guess.” He looked over at her. “Sorry. I just. How are we going to get that key now?” 

“We know where the door is now at least. That’s more than we knew before. Maybe it’s a lock that can be picked.” She turned to Anders. “What do you think Fred wasn’t telling us?”

“Fred?” he said with a quizzical look.

She shrugged. “He looked like a Fred to me. He said we’d proved our mettle. He was looking for someone to fight…something.”

The others stared at her and Varric let out a low whistle. “You are good, Hawke. I didn’t catch that.”

“It’s probably in the next chamber, whatever it is.” She commented. “Rest a bit, and then go in and deal with whatever it is?”

Carver didn’t answer, just flopped onto the ground, joined by Varric.

Anders beckoned her over. “Come. I want to check that your nose isn’t broken.” 

She crossed to him and he examined her carefully, before pouring some water on a cloth and gently wiping the blood off her face. “Not broken.” He confirmed with a smile.

“Anders.” She said softly. She sounded worried.

“What is is?” He asked looking closely at her.

She glanced at Varric and Carver, making sure they weren’t listening before turning back to him. “I felt you pull your magic just now before we attacked that thing.”

The hairs at the back of his neck prickled and he couldn’t keep the fear from his face. He wiped the last of the blood clean.

She’d been watching him for a reaction. “I shouldn’t be able to do that, should I?”

“No.” He said simply. 

“It’s the red lyrium. It does something. Exacerbates magic, I think. Have you felt stronger? Magically, I mean.”

He stared at her for a minute before nodding. “Yes. I hadn’t made the connection.” He’d thought it was the staff, but that had been foolish.

She swallowed. “Do you think it’s permanent?” He saw the fear in her eyes and cursed a world where just the thought of having magic produced that look. For the first time in days he felt Justice stir inside him.

“I don’t know, Hawke. If it is we’ll deal with it.” 

She nodded. “Are the effects cumulative, do you think? If we stay down here will it continue to grow?”

He tried to remember, to think when he had noticed the increased power, to think if it had changed. “Yes.” He said simply. 

She just nodded again. He put a reassuring hand on her arm and she looked up at him. “Don't tell Carver, all right? He'll just freak out about it and he's already stretched thin."

"I won't." he agreed.

She gave him a shaky smile. "You’ll teach me, right? If the need arises?” She looked very young and unsure suddenly.

He put an arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “Of course.” She let herself relax against him for a minute. He looked over her head, his face grim. They needed to find a way out, now more than ever.

 

After an initial wave of rock wraiths and shades, the next chamber seemed to be empty. There was plenty of rubble, but most of it was boulder sized rocks, not the smaller ones that made up the Profane. The chamber itself was huge, columns disappearing up to support a ceiling Hawke couldn’t even see.

She looked over at Varric who seemed to have suddenly perked up and was looking intently around the chamber, a smile slowly growing on his face. “Varric Tethras. Look at you.” she teased. “You know something. What is this place?”

“This is the vault. This is where the dwarfs would have brought their…” his voice trailed off as a loud rumbling noise grew behind them. He and Hawke exchanged a look and turned slowly.

A rock wraith was pulling together. Twice as tall as Carver.

“Oh. This can’t be good.” Muttered Varric, his head tilting back as he watched it come together. 

“Move!” shouted Hawke.

It was a brutal fight to begin with, but then the thing showed a power different from the Profane, releasing a long burst of electricity at them. By sheer luck, Hawke happened to be behind one of the columns the first time it happened and while the others writhed in the pain of the attack she just stood watching helplessly. They managed to avoid the next two electric attacks using that discovery and running behind whatever column was nearest. Hawke wasn’t as lucky with the fourth attack. She’d been battling a group of Profane that had decided to join the fight and simply hadn’t noticed the thing readying for another pulse of electricity. She fell to the ground when it hit her full force, clenching her teeth trying and failing to hold back a scream of pain. Anders heard it and realized what had happened and ran out and just blasted the thing using every bit of power he had and, he suspected, a bit of Justice’s power as well. The ancient wraith shattered, rock flying everywhere.

Anders fell to his knees, utterly drained.

“Fuck.” He heard Hawke mutter. And he smiled, knowing the profanity meant while she was hurting, she was all right.

“Anders?” She called out weakly.

“You're all right?” He managed to get out.

“Yeah. You know that electricity trick Isabela keeps talking about?”

“Yes…” he said warily.

“I don’t think I want to know about it anymore.”

He let out a weak chuckle, watching as Carver ran to his sister and pulled her to her feet, checking her carefully to make sure she was all right, putting a protective arm around her and letting her lean against him. Anders pushed himself slowly to his feet. He really hoped that thing was the only monster in here, because he didn’t think he had any magic left.

Varric had moved to a side chamber of the vault. “Hawke. Take a look at this.”

They walked over to join him. Hawke’s mouth fell open. Chest after chest filled the room, a few open, most closed. Beautiful weapons, jewels. Coin. She stepped forward to take a closer look and felt something under her foot. She looked down and started laughing.

Varric was still smiling at the treasure, but glanced over at her. “We miss a joke or something, Hawke?”

“It can’t possibly be this easy.” She said bending down and picking something off the floor of the vault. She held open her hand. A massive iron key lay on her palm. Four set of eyes went from the key to the door at the back of the chamber.

“I’m almost afraid to try it.” Hawke said, but she walked to the door and slid the key in the lock. It fit. She didn’t think any of them were breathing as she gently turned it. She looked up at them and smiled as they heard tumblers slide into place and the lock click open. 

 

Varric looked around at the statues at the side of the tunnel. “This. This is actually familiar.” His voice became excited. “This is our way back.” He’d been keeping careful track of their movements, creating his own set of maps as they went along, determined to return for the rest of the treasure that they hadn’t been able to carry away with them.

Hawke looked where he had pointed. She almost didn’t dare to hope. “How long until we get back?” 

He looked her straight in the eye, something he hadn’t truly done since Bartrand had double crossed them. “If we’re unlucky? Maybe a week.”

A week. It felt like she might not make it that long, trapped here in the dark, in the dirt. A week until she could see the sky and the sun and feel the wind on her face. “We’ve had a pretty good run of luck lately.” She said to Varric, and they both grinned. “If we continue to be lucky?”

“We trip over Bartrand’s corpse on the way out.”

Anabel started laughing. Giggling. Varric grinned at her and Anders smiled. It was good to hear that laugh again. Only Carver remained silent, lagging a bit behind. He’d feel better once they were out in the open, Hawke thought. She turned back to the others. “Home then?” she asked.

“Home.” Said Varric.

 

Five days later they rounded a corner. Hawke looked around, her excitement growing. “This is where we started! Where the cave-in was. The tunnel around it is just up ahead!”

“Think we could take a break?” asked Carver, trying to catch his breath.

He hadn’t spoken in hours she realized. She frowned. Maybe even days. They’d all been quieter, using all their strength and energy just to keep moving. “Definitely. I think we could all use a rest.” 

“I feel wrong.” He said. Carver never admitted he was sick. She turned immediately, looking at him. He was actually swaying. She ran to him reaching him just as he collapsed, bring her down with his full weight. 

“Carver!” with great effort she shifted him so she was cradling his head in her arms. She looked at his face in horror. Grey, sunken, his eyes coated in a film, veins blacker than they should be.

Carver looked at her, the horror in her face confirming what he had been afraid of. “It’s the Blight.” He said hoarsely.

“No.” She denied, shaking her head.

Anders and Varric were suddenly there. Anders put a gentle hand on Hawke’s shoulder. “Hawke…”

“No!” She shouted at him. “You’re wrong!” she looked at Anders angrily. “You don’t know that!”

 _I do_ , he thought, already feeling the faint hum of the taint coming from Carver. But looking at her anguished face, he didn’t say it.

“Just like that Templar, Wesley.” Said Carver thickly. “I’ll be just as dead. It’s getting worse. I can feel it inside me.”

Not Carver, she thought clutching him more tightly. Please not Carver. She looked up at Anders and Varric, eyes filling with tears, with grief, with rage. “There must be something we can do!”

Anders knelt down by her. “It’s too late Hawke. It’s in his blood already. What's been done can’t be undone.”

She shook her head again, clutching Carver more tightly. The image of Aveline thrusting her dagger into Wesley’s heart flashed in her mind. _Sweet Andraste, please. Don’t make me have to do that to Carver. Why save him that night we fought Meeran if you were just going to make me kill him?_

Something in Anders' words struck at a memory. _What’s been done to your man cannot be undone._

Flemeth.

Her eyes flashed up to Anders, frightening in their sudden intensity. “Make him a Warden.” She demanded.

He looked at her, shocked.

“Anabel.” Protested Carver. 

She smoothed his forehead frantically. “Don’t you remember what Flemeth said?” She asked him, looking down at him tenderly. “The only cure for the blight she knew was to become a Grey Warden.” She looked up at Anders. “Make him a warden!” She insisted.

“I can’t, Hawke.” he said helplessly. “It’s not that simple.

“Please. I can’t lose him. I can’t lose him too.” Tears were running down her face now. 

“I don’t know how.” He protested helplessly. “There are ingredients, a ritual.”

She looked desperately around the tunnel. “There must be other wardens down here. It’s the fucking Deep Roads! They’re supposed to be sodding filled with Grey Wardens! If they aren’t here when you need them what is the fucking point of them!” She was almost screaming now.

Anders looked at her, his heart breaking at her pain. “Hawke, even if we could find them….becoming a Grey Warden might cure him but it’s not without a price.”

“I don’t care what the price is!” She couldn’t kill Carver. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t survive that. 

“Hawke, it might not even work. And even if it does, you might never see your brother again. Being a warden.” He swallowed wondering why he even felt he had to keep their secrets anymore. “It’s irreversible. It’s not an easy life.”

“But it’s a life.” She pleaded. “He can’t die, Anders. He’s only nineteen. Please!” Her voice was becoming hysterical. 

He’d never seen her like this. He ran his hands roughly through his hair trying to think of what he could do.

“All right.” He finally said. “I stole the maps from a Grey Warden who came to Kirkwall. I thought he was looking for me, but he wasn’t. If he and the others are down here I know where they might be. I can try and find him, and see if we can even get him to agree to let Carver undertake the joining. But it means going further in instead of out.” He warned.

“That’s okay.” She said wiping the tears quickly away with the back of her hand. “We can do that.” She said, her face filled with such hope that Anders couldn’t look at her. He knew just how bleak Carver’s chances were. He turned and walked back to Varric to look at the maps he’d put together.

“This just keeps getting better and better.” Joked Carver with a feeble laugh. He looked up at her, more willing to admit the reality of things than she was. “Anabel…”

“We can do that.” She insisted fiercely. “We are doing that. Even if I have to carry you every step of the way.” 

“Maker, you’re bossy.” He said smiling weakly at her.

“Yes.” She agreed. “So let’s just save time and energy and do what I say, all right?”

He nodded. “All right.” He closed his eyes. She rested her head on top of his and a he felt a tear slip from between his lashes and down his cheek.

Towards the end they almost did have to carry him. He got weaker and weaker as Anders led them through the Deep Roads, trying to remember exactly where the Grey Wardens had been planning to go, hoping that his theft of the maps hadn’t changed their plans. He tried to sense them, hoping desperately he wasn’t just following a random band of darkspawn. 

After a few hours they came to another intersection and Anders stopped, suddenly alert.

Anabel eased Carver to the ground and went over to the mage. “What is it?” she asked anxiously.

“I think they’re nearby.” There was a sudden, unholy screech. _Shit_. “Or, it could just be more darkspawn.”

Without Carver’s sword, the fight was harder and messier. The darkspawn seemed unending, and all three of them were breathing heavily, but slowly the darkspawn were being overcome. Then there was the sound of voices shouting, men running, and weapons being drawn and used and it was suddenly over. Anders looked for Hawke. She was already running over to check on Carver.

The leader of the Wardens walked slowly over to them, his nostrils flaring in dislike as he recognized Anders.

“Fancy meeting you here, Stroud.” Said Anders standing straight, pretending a nonchalance he was far from feeling. 

Stroud looked around at the piles darkspawn corpses. “Anders. I thought you were through fighting darkspawn.” His voice was filled with contempt.

He bit back a retort, forcing himself to stay civil. “I was looking for you, actually, the darkspawn just got in my way.” 

“A lot of things get in your way. You always seem to get by them, no matter the cost.” 

“It’s a talent.” Anders said lightly. “One that has helped you out in the past.” He reminded the Orlesian.

Stroud looked away for a moment. “Yes. It has. So what is it you want of us, Anders?”

Anders glanced over at Anabel who had hoisted Carver to his feet and was dragging him over.

Stroud’s eyes widened in comprehension as he took in Carver’s appearance. “You mean the boy as a recruit?” He shook his head astounded by Anders’ gall. “Of course you do.” He muttered something in Orlesian under his breath before turning to face Hawke and Carver. “I’m sorry. We don’t recruit Grey Wardens out of pity.” He said abruptly. “It is no kindness.” He started to turn away.

Anger flared in Hawke’s eyes “You think it’s kinder to let Carver die of the blight?” 

Stroud was unmoved. “Sometimes it is, yes.”

Her eyes flashed with fury, but before she could protest, Anders put a warning hand on her arm and spoke. “Stroud, trust me when I say this wouldn’t be just pity. He’s a damn good fighter. The blight is over. You don’t have recruits lining up. The Wardens could use him. He’s worth your time. Don’t let your dislike of me stop you from taking him.”

“I don’t let personal issues prevent me from doing my duty as a warden.” Said Stroud, a touch of anger coming into his voice. He studied Carver carefully. “This may be as much a death sentence as the sickness, has he told you that?”

“It’s a chance.” Said Anabel interrupted, before Carver could respond. 

Stroud looked down at her. Just a girl, he thought. What in the Void was Anders thinking bringing her into the Deep Roads. “You may never see him again. Do you realize that?” He said harshly.

Those magnificent eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t look away. “But he’ll be alive. Please.”

Stroud looked at them both for one long moment. He swore softly, and then he seemed to suddenly make up his mind. “If the boy comes, he comes now.” He said abruptly turning to his men and giving instructions before turning back to Anders. “My debt to you is paid, Anders.” 

Anders just nodded and watched as Stroud walked back to the other Wardens.

Anabel turned and pressed her forehead against Carver’s. One of his hands tangled in her braid tugging it lightly. 

“Are you sure about this?” He muttered.

She laughed, a short bleak sound. “I’m not sure about anything, anymore.” She admitted.

He laughed too. “Well that’s a first.” His arms tightened around her.

Anabel’s heart constricted painfully at the thought of a life without Carver at her side. She shoved him suddenly at Anders, and ran over to Stroud, grabbing his arm. “Take me too.” 

Stroud looked briefly horrified, though he quickly masked it.

“No!” Anders shouted and handed Carver over to Varric, swiftly crossing to join Hawke and Stroud.

Anabel looked from one to the other not understanding the reaction. “Why not? Anders can tell you how good I am. I can fight. I’m fast, I’m accurate. And Carver and I together are better than four, than six men.” 

Stroud looked around at the darkspawn corpses and Anders felt ice creep around his heart knowing Stroud was remembering seeing her fight. 

Before Stroud could waver, Anders stepped in front of her. “No, Stroud. Or I’ll tell her why.” Stroud's eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at the mage. _That’s right you poncey bastard. You try this and I’ll spill every Warden secret,_ Anders thought glaring at him.

Stroud watched Anders for a moment, his face unreadable. Then he gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod. He turned to Hawke. “I’m sorry, but no.” He turned and walked away.

Anabel opened her mouth to argue, to protest that they couldn’t separate them. It’s always been the two of them, why couldn’t anyone understand that? “If the Grey Wardens need recruits so badly why not take me as well?” She pleaded desperately.

“Anabel.” Called Carver weakly. She ran to him. “You can’t come this time.” She opened her mouth to argue and he cut her off. “This isn’t like Ostagar. Mother doesn’t have Bethany anymore, and she doesn’t have her friends like in Lothering. You have to go back this time.” 

She shook her head, vigorously, like a small child refusing to listen to a parent. 

“Little Hawke.” he said deliberately, and she froze at the sound of their father’s nickname for her. “We promised Da we’d take care of her. I can’t do that now. You have to take care of her. For both of us.”

A harsh sob tore from her throat and she gave a small nod of her head but didn't speak. 

“Promise me.” He insisted.

She nodded again. “I promise.” She whispered. She flung her arms around his neck, holding him as if she would never let him go. She felt his arms go around her holding her close, his face buried in her hair. Tears began to stream down her face.

Anders looked away, unable to watch them.

Stroud returned with two of his men. “Come, we must to get to the surface. We’ve much to do if we’re to be in time.” He looked at the two siblings, and then deliberately at Anders. 

Anders reached down and put an arm around Anabel’s waist, pulling her forcibly away from Carver, restraining her. The wardens pulled Carver to his feet, and led him away.

Hawke struggled against Anders’ hold. “No! Not yet! Please!” 

Carver, supported by the Wardens, didn’t look back. 

She fought to get free of Anders, screaming in protest, thrashing wildly, and when the Wardens had turned a corner and disappeared she turned on him hitting his chest with her fists, sobbing and screaming her pain at him. 

“I just wanted to say goodbye! I didn’t get to say goodbye.” She collapsed on the floor of the tunnel, heart-wrenching sobs pouring out of her. Anders dropped down beside her and pulled her onto his lap holding her tightly. She resisted at first but eventually collapsed against him clinging to his neck and weeping piteously.

Varric watched, fighting down the lump in his own throat, thinking of all he was going to do to Bartrand when he found him again. Watching Hawke’s raw pain, he knew this was a story he would never write down.


	25. Strawberries from the Chantry Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke finds comfort after her return from the Deep Roads.

The Grand Cleric caught Sebastian’s eye as he came out of the storage room, beckoning him to her. She was looking at the benches on the upper level, the ones left in place at all times for private devotions. At this time of day they were dimly lit and mostly empty.

“Your Grace?” he asked, joining her. 

“That girl, Sebastian, the one sitting in the back row.” Said Elthina. “She’s been coming here for the last few days. She doesn’t partake of any of the services, and never speaks to anyone. But she’s here almost as soon as the doors open and stays until the evening service is over and the doors are locked. I don’t think I’ve seen her before. Do you know who she is?” 

Sebastian looked where she had indicated, and could just make out a small figure huddled there. He opened his mouth to say he didn’t know, and just then Sister Emmeline came by, lighting the candles, and the light played off of flaming red curls. The girl looked up briefly at the light and then lowered her head to her knees once more.

 _Hawke?_ He hadn’t even known she’d returned to Kirkwall, he thought, offering a silent prayer that she was safely back home. And then as he looked more closely, his relief vanished. She was curled up in the darkest corner, feet on the wooden bench, her arms clutched around her legs, like a child hiding from a nightmare. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. 

He turned to Elthina. “I do know her. She’s one of the Fereldan refugees.” He looked back at the benches. She hadn’t moved. “If you’ll excuse me Grand Cleric.” He said, and before Elthina could question him further, he was at the stairs, taking them two at a time, quickly crossing to Hawke’s side. She didn’t seem to notice. 

He crouched down next to her, resting his hand on the back of the bench in front of her. “Hawke?” He said softly. 

She slowly lifted her head to look at him.

 _Sweet Andraste_. He looked at her, stunned at how her much her appearance had altered in the weeks since he’d last seen her. How long had it been? Two months. Almost three. She was much paler, and far too thin, her cheekbones suddenly prominent in her delicate face, making her eyes look huge, but that it wasn’t that which had shocked him. The light, the joyful spark that was so much a part of her was simply gone, extinguished. Those amazing eyes were bleak. 

What in the Maker’s name could have happened to her to cause such a change? She was staring at him but he wasn’t even certain she recognized him.

“Hawke.” He repeated. “It’s Sebastian.”

Her eyes seemed to focus and there was a flicker of recognition and suddenly her eyes were filled to bursting with such pain, such sorrow, such absolute anguish that merely seeing it was like a blow. It took every bit of willpower he had to not simply gather her close to him and hold her, to offer himself as a barrier between her and whatever it was that had made her look like this. 

“It will be all right.” He said, because surely nothing could be as bad as whatever was causing her to look like that.

She shook her head helplessly. “No. It won’t be.” Her voice sounded hoarse, unused, as if she hadn’t spoken for days. He reached over and took her small hand in his much larger one. She stared down at it for just a minute before clutching it frantically and staring into his eyes as if she were drowning and he were the only lifeline. 

Her grip was almost painful. He moved his other hand to her back, as if his touch could shield her from her troubles. “It will be all right.” He repeated, determined now to do everything in his power to make that be true. 

“There you are. I couldn’t believe it when Gamlen said this was where you’d been hiding.” The harsh voice cut through the silence of the Chantry, all heads turning to see who was causing such a disturbance. Sebastian felt Hawke go rigid under his hand and he turned his head to see Hawke’s mother at the top of the stairs, crossing rapidly to where they were seated. He was taken aback by the venom on her face as she looked at her daughter. 

Hawke pulled her hand free and he quickly turned back to her.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered but before he could question why she would be sorry, she had scrambled past him and intercepted her mother before she could reach the benches. 

“Please mother, not here.” He heard her plead. 

Her mother’s voice was filled with contempt. “You in the Chantry? It’s laughable. You really think you’re going to find forgiveness for what you did?” 

He was unprepared for the anger that filled him when he heard her say that. He thought of Hawke’s tentative lighting of the candle the last time she’d been here. How dare her mother imply she wasn’t welcome here, wasn’t worthy of forgiveness? He got to his feet and moved quickly towards them. This had gone beyond a family quarrel. 

Hawke glanced over at him as he approached them. “Please, Mother.” She implored. “Not here. Please, let’s go back to Gamlen’s.” She tried to take her mother’s arm to steer her towards the stairs. 

Leandra yanked her arm free, as if she couldn’t bear to be touched by her. “Don’t you tell me what to do. Don’t you dare! If you had done what you were supposed to Carver would be here. Bethany would be here. You were supposed to keep them safe.”

Hawke closed her eyes and let her hands fall to her sides. “I’m sorry, Mother.” It had been said so many times since she’d returned that the words had lost all meaning. She let herself go back into that dark misery that she’d wrapped herself in since her return. It was better there. Her mother’s words didn’t penetrate as much there. She didn’t have to feel there. It hurt too much to feel. 

“Sorry doesn’t bring back my babies. Why didn’t you listen to me? You should have made Carver stay here where he would be safe. But selfish as you are, you had to drag him off with you. If it weren’t for you he would be here. They would both be here. It’s your fault.” Leandra’s voice increased in volume as she continued her attack. 

Sebastian had just reached them and was opening his mouth to speak, when he heard Elthina’s voice. “Leandra?” 

Leandra looked over in annoyance, but flushed and curtsied when she recognized the Grand Cleric. “Your Grace.” Her hands fluttered to her dress, as if ashamed of the simple clothing she wore.

“Leandra, my child.” Elthina said warmly, walking up to her and taking her hands. “I had no idea you had returned to Kirkwall. You should have come to see me. When did you arrive?” 

It hadn’t occurred to Sebastian that Elthina would have known Hawke’s mother, but of course she would have. 

The Grand Cleric embraced her and then looked over at Hawke her wise eyes taking in the girl’s obvious misery. “This is your daughter?” she asked, looking to Leandra for confirmation.

Leandra seemed disinclined to admit it but finally said. “Yes, your grace, my eldest, Anabel.”

Anabel. He hadn’t known her first name. That seemed ridiculous somehow.

“Why, she’s lovely, Leandra. But you said she was your eldest. You have other children then? And your husband? He’s well?” He had seen Elthina do this a hundred times before; diffuse anger by asking the simplest of questions, reminding them about those they loved, those who mattered most to them. It seemed to have the opposite effect on Hawke’s mother. 

“My husband is dead. I had another daughter, Bethany. She was killed when we were fleeing Fereldan during the blight.” She glared accusingly at Hawke. “She was left unprotected, and she died. Just like my son.” She said, beginning to shout once again. “You just left him there! You didn’t protect him. Just like Bethany!” 

Hawke didn’t defend herself from her mother’s accusations. Her eyes looked past Leandra to the statue of Andraste, but Sebastian didn’t think she even really saw it. Her lack of response seemed to infuriate her mother even further.

“Why didn’t you keep them safe? You should have died trying!” Leandra screamed at her.

That made Hawke look. The pain in her eyes was almost hard to see. “Yes,” She whispered hoarsely. “I should have.” 

Before he or Elthina could stop her, Leandra had reached out and slapped Hawke, the loud crack of her hand against her daughter’s cheek echoing through the Chantry. Without even thinking, Sebastian stepped between them, moving Hawke behind him to prevent her mother from striking her again. Leandra’s venomous expression faltered under the warning in those fiery blue eyes. He turned to look at Hawke. She’d raised a shaking hand to her cheek. She made no move to retaliate, or retreat, just stared at her mother with those wounded eyes. 

“Leandra!” Elthina’s horror at the woman’s actions was plain in her voice. “You are obviously distraught. Come to my chambers and speak with me.” She put a firm arm around Leandra’s stiff shoulders and turned her towards her office. “Brother Sebastian, perhaps you would show Anabel the gardens while Leandra and I talk?”

“Of course, Grand Cleric.” Sebastian answered automatically, having to take a moment to calm himself. He had never felt the urge to strike a woman before today. His own mother hadn’t been particularly affectionate, her disappointment in his not being a girl had never been disguised, but she had never treated him as he’d just seen Hawke’s mother treat her. He looked down at Hawke, She hadn’t moved, just stood there, her hand still on her cheek, staring bleakly after her mother’s retreating figure. 

“Come, Hawke.” She looked up at him with that same blankness that had been in her eyes earlier. He smiled gently, placing a hand at the small of her back leading her down the stairs. Hawke didn’t question where they were going, just followed willingly, but there was an indifference to her actions, as if it simply didn’t matter to her where she went, that worried him. He led her through the Chantry to the formal gardens in the back. She blinked as they stepped into the afternoon sunshine and stopped, looking up at the sky and holding her face up to the sun for a moment. He watched her, puzzled by the action. 

“Come, Hawke.” he repeated, after a moment. She lowered her head, looking at him silently and then continued walking. He stopped when they reach the elaborate marble fountain that was garden’s ceterpiece. He looked down at her and frowned, reaching out his hand and gently turning her face to look at her cheek. There was a vivid red welt and a small cut from her mother’s slap standing out in stark contrast against her too pale skin. Leandra must have been wearing a ring. His anger flared again and he took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus solely on Hawke. She hadn’t tried to pull away from his hand just stood there, watching him. His eyes softened. She seemed so fragile. “Sit down Hawke.” he said gently, indicating the marble bench in front of the fountain.

She followed his directions wordlessly. He sat next to her, and reached into his robes, pulling out a handkerchief and dipping it in the cold water of the fountain. Her eyes followed his movements with a vaguely puzzled expression.

“You’ve a cut on your cheek.” He explained. “May I?” he asked, holding up the handkerchief.

She stared at it and then back at him for a moment with a small frown. She nodded finally. Was someone taking care of her truly so remarkable? 

He pressed the cold cloth to her cheek and she winced a little.

“Sorry.” He said softly. He dipped it into the cold water and brought it to her cheek again, holding it there this time. There were dark circles under her eyes. She hadn’t been sleeping. Or eating, he thought as he noted the looseness of her leather armor with a frown.

“I’m sorry.” She said suddenly.

“For what, Hawke?” His eyes were kind.

“For that. For the disturbance. The yelling. And the rest. Bringing all our troubles into the Chantry.” 

He smiled gently at her. “Isn’t that what the Chantry is for? It’s not the first time it’s happened, it won’t be the last.” And it wasn’t you doing the yelling, he wanted to add, as he dipped the handkerchief in the cool water of the fountain again, wringing out the extra water and folding it into a square. “Hold that there for a bit. It will help with the swelling.” Obediently her hand came up holding the handkerchief in place. 

He waited to see if she would speak again, but when she didn’t he commented quietly. “Your mother seems quite upset.”

She laughed bitterly and let the hand with the handkerchief fall to her lap. “Yes. Well, I’ve always been able to upset Leandra.” She didn’t elaborate. 

He waited a few moments before asking. “The tall young man with you when you came to the Chantry the day we met. That was your brother?”

She gave him a wary glance, and stiffly nodded her head.

“Did something happen to him?” 

She stared at him, and saw the compassion in his eyes, and felt the numbing fog she’d been in since the Deep Roads thin slightly. She wasn’t sure she wanted it to. A lump rose in her throat. She nodded again, and turned her head away from him, staring at the water falling from the fountain. 

He didn’t pressure her, just kept watching, waiting for her to speak. 

“I think I killed him.” She said so low that he barely heard it. The tears which she hadn’t let fall since Carver had left with the Grey Wardens rolled slowly down her cheeks. She quickly wiped them away with the back of her hand and continued staring at the fountain.

Whatever Sebastian had expected her to say, it hadn’t been that. _I think I killed him_. Not _I killed him_. A strange way to put it. “You don’t seem very certain.” He kept his tone deliberately casual.

She looked back at him as if surprised by his words. She frowned and turned back to the fountain. She didn’t say anything more.

She’d wrapped her pain well and securely around her shutting everyone out, he thought watching her, and she wouldn’t let it go easily. It had been his own inclination when he had heard about his family. Thank the Maker he’d had Elthina to prevent that. 

“The last time we met you were preparing to leave on your expedition. Was it successful?” If he could just draw her out. Get her to speak of it.

“Successful?” She repeated, looking at him. His face showed only kindness. She didn’t deserve kindness. She gave a bitter laugh. “I suppose it depends on how you measure success.” She turned back to the fountain.

Why did he keep pestering her? Couldn’t he tell she didn’t want to talk about it? None of her other friends were prodding like this. Varric was so racked with guilt about Bartrand he didn’t question her prolonged absence from the Hanged Man. Isabela had absconded with some poor fisherman’s boat when she’d heard the news and disappeared Maker knew where, and when or if she’d return. Aveline had said she was sorry, the look in her eyes letting Anabel know she was thinking about Wesley, that Anabel had unburied her pain as well. Merril just watched her with big sad eyes. Anders. She’d tried to talk to Anders, tried to find out more about the Joining, about the Grey Wardens, about what all the cryptic comments he and Stroud said had meant, but Anders had refused to discuss it, and she’d finally retreated, stopped asking, stopped going to the clinic. Fenris was the only one she’d spent any time with. When she’d finally fled from Leandra’s tears and accusations, it had been Fenris who had offered her a place, his silent company and access to Denarius’ wine cellar. She had taken advantage of that for a while, until she realized being drunk wasn’t fixing anything, it just made it harder to keep the pain at bay. Fenris hadn’t questioned or pried, just left her to herself for the most part, occasionally letting her know he had purchased bread or fruit or opened a bottle of wine and if she wished, she could partake. But then Leandra had discovered where she was, had turned up yelling on his doorstep one morning, and that refuge was lost to her. She’d discovered she could hide in the Chantry and no one would bother her. Until today. She glanced back at Sebastian.

He was still watching her. Still waiting for an answer. She took a deep shuddering breath and looked straight ahead. “We went into the Deep Roads.”

“The Deep Roads?” He couldn’t hide his surprise. Did she have no sense of self-preservation? Did no one look out for her? Sudden realization hit him. “Not the Tethris Expedition?” He asked. All Kirkwall was buzzing with stories. If that was Hawke’s expedition she was now a wealthy woman. A very wealthy woman if the stories were to be believed. 

“The Tethris Expedition.” She repeated that bitter laugh, that was so wrong coming from her. “It sounds very grand when you call it that.” She let out a shaky breath. “But it wasn’t. It was dark and dirty and horrifying.” Her voice caught on the last word and the pain flared in her eyes and she looked away again.

Before he could stop himself he’d reached out and taken her hand in his. She looked down at their hands and then up at him. Her hand curled into a small fist and she tried to pull it away. She didn’t want people being kind to her. He kept a hold of it and softly ran his thumb over the back of her hand.

She was wound so tightly, he thought. And so close to snapping. “What happened, Hawke?” He asked quietly, his eyes kind and sad and filled with compassion.

She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly tight. She unclenched her fist and her fingers tentatively curled over his hand. He held it, continuing the gentle stroking motion of his thumb. She shivered, mesmerized by the movement. It wasn’t that strange almost electric reaction she’d had the first time they’d touched. This touch seemed to soothe, promising ease, warmth, safety. She looked into those clear blue eyes, drawing strength from them. “Carver was tainted.” The words came out in barely more than a whisper. A small sound escaped her throat, not quite a sob, but close, and she clamped her mouth shut, as if afraid to let out anything more. She hadn’t said the words out loud since telling Leandra. It wasn’t any easier now. 

Sebstian closed his eyes briefly. Dear Maker. Her words made sense now. He recited a silent prayer for her brother. That strong, handsome boy, who had been so alive. He thought of the way he’d swung Hawke around in front of the chantry of the laughter and love he had seen between them, and his heart ached for her. “I am so sorry, Hawke. I know how much he meant to you.” 

The kindness and sincere sympathy in his voice was her undoing. She felt that deadening fog vanish, and the tears that she had held back for so long flowed unchecked down her face. She pulled her hand free and wiped them away. Her voice was thick with emotion and when she spoke, the words coming out in a rush as if a floodgate had been opened. “The stupid idiot didn’t even tell me something was wrong. Just collapsed on the floor of the tunnel. We’d been wandering around for more than a week trying to find our way out. We’d run out of food and we were all so tired and so hungry and just exhausted and all I could think of was finding a way out, of seeing the sun and the sky again, of being out of that darkness. I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t even notice that anything was wrong with him. I should have noticed.” She said fiercely. She stopped talking, though the tears continued unheeded. She made no move to wipe them away this time. 

“You were lost?” he asked, barely able to think of anything more frightening than being lost in the Deep Roads.

“Yes. Sort of. Our partner double crossed us. Trapped us there underground. I don’t think he thought we’d find a way out. We fought so many things. Things I’d never seen. Things I’d never even heard of. But we did it. We found our way back. We were almost at the surface when Carver…” her voice trailed off. After a moment she turned to him her eyes enormous in her thinner face. “Have you ever seen anyone who’s been tainted?” 

“No.” he said simply. She shouldn’t have either. He took the handkerchief from where she had dropped it, and handed it to her.

She took the handkerchief and wiped almost viciously at her eyes. “It’s horrible. They go all sort of grey and sunken, like their blood is the wrong color, and their eyes…” She looked at him again. “We had the same eyes, Carver and I. Our Da’s eyes.” 

“Yes.” He said simply. “It’s how I knew he was your brother.”

“Yes. That’s what most people say.” She looked straight ahead. “The taint changed that. His eyes went all opaque and hidden, as if there was some sort of film over them. It was like something was absorbing him from the inside. Sucking him away.” She closed her eyes briefly at the memory. “How could I not have noticed that?” She asked and then was silent once again.

“Were you forced to leave him there?” Sebastian asked softly after a moment had passed without her speaking.

“No. Not there. But later.” She didn’t say anything, and he feared she had retreated once more she suddenly spoke again. “One of our party was…is, a Grey Warden. A mage. A healer. He managed to keep Carver alive long enough to find a group of Wardens nearby. They agreed to let him undergo the Joining.” 

“And that would cure the taint?” He asked. He hadn’t ever heard that. 

There was a moment’s hesitation before she answered. “They said it might.” Her voice was reluctant, as if there were danger in saying it out loud.

“So he might very well be alive.” He looked at her not understanding why she seemed so apprehensive talking about it. “Hawke, isn’t this good news?” 

She went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “I tried to go with him, tried to join the Wardens also, but they wouldn’t take me. They wouldn’t let me.” She looked at him and he saw anger and bitterness in her eyes. It was better than that horrible blankness, but just as foreign on her face.

He offered up a silent prayer to whomever these Grey Wardens had been that they’d been sensible enough to refuse her. “I’m sure they were thinking of your own safety.” He said gently.

The anger flared again. “They should have let me! They should have let us stay together. We’ve always been together. We’re supposed to be together. And now he’s gone!” Her voice was louder now. There was color in her cheeks. That defensive shell was cracking. _Good_ , he thought. _Good_.

“You don’t know that, Hawke. He could be alive.” He said simply.

She shook her head vigorously, denying it. “No. No, they said that the Joining was dangerous, that he might not survive it.” 

“But he might.” Sebastian pointed out.

“They thought he was too far gone.” She said, glaring at him.

“But they were willing to try.” Why was this making her so angry?

“They didn’t even want to take him at first! Anders had to talk them into it. Had to call in a favor. They didn’t want to waste their time. They didn’t think he would survive.”

“He could very well be alive right now.” 

“No.” she insisted shaking her head vehemently. 

“You are a stubborn one, aren’t you?” He said with a small smile and a shake of his head.

She looked surprised for a moment, and then a small smile briefly flashed, just a glimpse of her old self. “Horribly stubborn.” The smile quickly disappeared. “I miss him so much.” Her voice hollow. “It’s always been the two of us together. Growing up. At Ostagar. That year in the Red Iron. He’s barely a year younger than I am. I can’t even remember him not being there.” She stared straight ahead, her eyes far away. 

He reached out and gently turned her face so she had to look at him. “Tell me. Tell me what you’re so afraid of.”

She opened her mouth to deny it but she suddenly couldn’t and she felt the panic rising like a wave. She tried to look away but he wouldn’t let her.

“Tell me.” Sebastian insisted softly, looking directly in her eyes. She felt herself still under that steady gaze. 

Her eyes were suddenly pleading. “I don’t know what I’ll do if I find out he didn’t survive. If I think of him as already dead it’s easier than hoping he’s still alive and then finding out he’s not.” The tears were falling again. She shook her head apologetically. “I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t make any sense.”

He nodded slowly. Now he understood. He briefly caressed her face, brushing away the tears, and then leaned back on his hands looking up at the sky, considering for a moment before he spoke.

“I see your reasoning, Hawke, but I think it’s flawed. You shouldn’t shut yourself off to the comfort of the possibility that he might be all right. If there’s a chance, no matter how small, you mustn’t give up. Never give up hope. The Maker still hears our prayers. He hasn’t abandoned you.” 

The anger was suddenly back. “I’m furious with the Maker and your Andraste. Why would she save him that night he was so badly hurt if she was only going to take him away again like that?” she demanded.

“It wasn’t the Maker and his bride who tainted your brother, Hawke. It was the darkspawn.”

“But they let it happen. They didn’t stop it. Why?” He had heard the question so many times. “It isn’t fair!” she insisted.

“No.” He said sadly. “Life is often quite unfair.” 

She remembered his family’s fate and felt her cheeks flush. “I'm sorry. That was thoughtless of me. I shouldn’t have…you’ve lost far more than I have. I don’t have any right to speak to you like this.” She shivered. “You’ve been nothing but kind, why am I being so awful to you?

He stopped her stammered apology. “It’s all right, Hawke.” He said with a gentle smile, and then his face grew serious. “I don’t think we can ever claim to know why such things happen. But that it happens isn’t a punishment. Perhaps there are things you need to do, paths you’re meant to travel without your brother. Perhaps he’s needed elsewhere for other things. Perhaps the Maker has plans for Starkhaven, or for me that he has yet to reveal, or perhaps what happened there will prevent a greater evil from happening elsewhere. I don’t know. It’s so hard to see the Maker’s bigger plans, Hawke. Why things happen the way they do. I don’t know if we’re even really meant to. But there is a purpose. Don’t doubt that there is a purpose.” 

She looked at him wistfully. Looking into those eyes, hearing his words in that soothing Starkhaven burr, she could almost let herself believe it. “I envy you your faith.” She said, looking away again.

“You don’t have any?” He asked gently.

She flushed, worried that she had offended him. “No, it’s not that. We just never had much to do with the Chantry. I honestly don’t know much about it.” She looked over at him uncertainly. “My father and my sister were both mages. Apostates. We had to move around a lot. And even if we did stay somewhere for any length of time we tried to avoid chantries and Templars.”

Her sister was a mage as well. Living with an apostate – two apostates – of course the Chantry couldn’t be a part of that. “That would make sense.” He commented mildly.

“You don’t seem surprised.” She said with a small frown. “I would have thought a proper Chantry brother would be horrified that we’d defied Chantry law for so long.” She said the last almost aggressively. 

She was letting herself feel again. Good. “I knew about your father, but not your sister.” He said ignoring her jibe.

She scowled at him. “You know it’s impossible to be angry with someone who refuses to even rise to the bait.” He just gave her an easy smile. She shook her head again. “You haven’t done anything. Why do I keep lashing out at you?”

“I suspect you’ve bottled up your emotions for a while now.” He said. “I just happen to be the only one here now that you’re finally letting them go.”

“Poor you.” She looked at him curiously. “Are you really not horrified by my being an apostate’s daughter?”

“Not especially.” He said mildly. 

She gave him a puzzled look and then sighed. “It still seems so strange to not have to hide it anymore. But it’s not at all the relief I used to think it would be.”

“It must have been difficult growing up like that.”

She frowned. “Sometimes, I suppose. I didn’t really know anything else. We used to move around a lot. We only stopped when Bethany’s magic showed. That was her name. Bethany. She and Carver were twins. Da though it would be too dangerous to travel with an untrained mage, so we settled just outside this tiny village right on the edge of the Kokari Wilds. The middle of nowhere, really. Da started training Bethany, and Carver and I worked the farm, such as it was and took odd jobs to help out.” 

“How old were you?”

She frowned as she tried to remember. “Eleven? Maybe twelve. Old enough.“

He thought of his life when he was that age. No responsibilities. Servants and riches and palaces. No real worries. Given everything he asked for. Any chore done for him. How different from her life.

“We stayed there until the Blight.” She continued. “It was longer than we’d ever stayed in one place. We thought about leaving after Da died but we were too scared that people would find out about Bethany.”

“What happened to her?” He asked thinking about her mother’s accusation.

Hawke sighed. “She was killed by an ogre when we were fleeing Fereldan.” She glanced over at him her eyes sorrowful. “I had to make a choice, you see. Carver was being overwhelmed by darkspawn. Even though he had told me to stay and watch out for Mother and Bethany, I couldn’t just let him be overwhelmed. I had to go and help him. I thought Bethany and Mother were hidden well enough. The ogre lunged for Mother, and Bethany tried to stop it with her magic. It picked her up and smashed her against a boulder, like she was a rag doll.” She looked up at him. “I should have been able to save her. Leandra’s right to be angry.”

“She could hardly have expected you to slay an ogre, Hawke.” 

She just looked at him as if she didn’t quite understand his words. “But I did kill it.” She said. “I just wasn’t fast enough. If I’d been faster Bethany would still be alive. And if I’d made Carver stay here instead of bringing him along on the expedition, as Leandra wanted, he wouldn’t have been tainted. I could have come up with a reason. She’s right. I was selfish. I wanted him with me. If not for me Leandra would still have the twins. It’s all my fault.” 

There was so much wrong with this statement that for a moment he couldn’t think where to start. “Perhaps. Or perhaps without you, no one would have made it out of Fereldan.” He pointed out. “Carver is an adult, with the right to make his own decisions. Did you force him to come with you?” he asked.

“No, of course not. But I could have forbidden it. You’re were right. It’s not the Maker’s fault or Andraste’s fault. That was childish to say. It’s no one’s fault but mine. Everything that’s happened is because of the decisions I made. Because of what I did.” She explained looking away again.

“Oh, you’re that important, are you?” She glanced back at him, startled by his words. He had a teasing, but kind smile on his face. 

“That’s not what I meant. I just…” She stopped and frowned suddenly confused.

“You just meant that you’re the only one to blame for all that happened to your family?” He asked.

“Well, yes.” She said, but suddenly that didn’t seem so right either. 

He watched her with a small smile and shook his head. “Well, I’m not going to waste my time trying to tell you otherwise. You seem far too set on the idea.” 

She opened her mouth to deny it, but closed it again without speaking. The confused frown was back.

He continued speaking. “But if you truly believe that, if you truly think that it’s all your fault, that you’ve somehow wronged your mother, and mind you, I’m not agreeing that you have, then try to think of how you might make it up to her, not for her sake, but for your own. You’re the only child she has left. She’s the only parent you have left. Let that be a starting point. What could you do for her that would put your own mind at ease? It might be more beneficial than just beating your breast, insisting the blame is solely yours.” 

Her lips twitched a little at the image. “Well, I’ve never been much of one for gratuitous breast beating.” She looked at him as if really seeing him for the first time since they came into the garden. She shook her head. “You don’t talk like any Chantry priest I’ve ever met.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He said lightly. 

They sat in silence as she considered what he’d said. Did she dare let herself hope that Carver might have survived? Would that be such a bad thing? Maybe not. The tightness in her chest seemed to loosen a little and she felt herself relaxing. She let the peace of the garden, the peace that had eluded her since her return even in the Chantry itself, wash over her, Sebastian’s presence at her side only adding to her sense of serenity. She closed her eyes again and listened to the sound of the fountain, the birds and wind in the trees. She lifted her face to feel the sun. Three weeks out of the Deep Roads and she still couldn’t get enough of the sun and the sky.

Sebastian sat quietly beside her, watching her, not moving, not wanting to disturb her. He could see some of the tension ease, see her relax, grow calmer. He wanted nothing more than to gather her in his arms, to hold her, to promise her that everything would be all right. To kiss all her tears and fears away. He had counseled many people, men and women, in his time in the Chantry, but had never felt this need to protect anyone the way he did her. Where did it come from? She affected him like no one else. She had since the first time he saw her. He’d been so certain the last few years that he was beyond temptation, that he would never break his vows. But temptation had come, not in the form of gold or riches or power, or half naked temptresses offering sexual depravity, but in a slip of a girl who seemed totally unaware of what she did to him. The irony of it didn’t escape him. A rueful smile curved his lips.

He watched the sunlight play on her hair. That magnificent hair. Every shade of red, from a golden red where the sun has lightened it, to a dark auburn, just as her eyes seemed to go from aqua to teal to emerald green, as if the Maker hadn’t quite been able to make up his mind, as if when creating Hawke He had decided to use every color in the palette. She took his breath away. Every time he looked at her.

She opened her eyes to find Sebastian was smiling at her and she couldn’t help smile back at him. She could rest in that smile. “I was enjoying the peace.” She explained. She took a deep breath and let it out again. “It seems such a long time since I was just still.” She said softly. For the first time since Carver had left it felt like she might just survive all of this. She looked up at him, her eyes calm, and he offered a silent prayer that she’d found the peace she so deserved. 

“I think I might be okay.” She said to him.

He nodded. “I think you will be.”

“Thank you. For letting me rant and rail and weep all over you.” And that hadn’t been too embarrassing, had it? 

“Not at all.”

“You’re quite good at this stuff.” She hadn’t expected that. He truly did have a gift.

“I’m glad if I helped.” He said simply.

“You did.” She looked around the garden. “It’s beautiful here. Who takes care of it?” 

He turned to look at the elaborate beds and paths. “We all do,” he said. “It’s nice to get out of the Chantry and work outdoors.” She looked surprised. “What, did you think that we spend all our time huddled around the candles praying?” he teased. 

Her smile deepened and for the first time that day, he had a fleeting glimpse of her dimple. “It sounds silly when you say it like that, but probably I did. Do you enjoy the work?”

Sebastian viewed around with approval. The spring blossoms were out in full, filling it with color and scent. It was his favorite time of year for the garden. “I do. It’s demanding physically, but once things begin to grow and bloom it’s very satisfying to be able to see the results of your work so spectacularly.” 

She looked at the elaborate paths, and flower beds, the carefully pruned trees and the fountain in the middle. “I wouldn’t have expected a Chantry garden to look like this. I thought it would be all practical things.” 

“What do you consider practical where gardens are concerned?” 

“Oh, you know. Nourishing vegetables and sensible fruits.”

“Ah.” He thought for a minute. “And which are the sensible fruits again?” he asked with that teasing smile again.

She laughed out loud, a real laugh this time, and he smiled at the sound. “Apples I suppose. And grapes. Self-contained. Easily portable.” 

“And the non-sensible fruit?” he asked.

She laughed again. “Oh, cherries definitely. All those pits to deal with, and the stains. And peaches. They’re either too hard and tasteless, or if they’re perfectly ripe you end up with juice dribbling down your chin and chest. I always feel I need a bath after a good peach.” 

Unbidden, images flashed into his head. Hawke sticky with fruit juice dripping between her breasts. Leaning down to taste the juice off her skin. Hawke lounging in a bath running a soapy flannel over her skin. Any hope that his desire for her had diminished disappeared. He forced himself to focus on what she was saying.

“Carver and I used to sneak into the chantry garden in Lothering and steal strawberries. We got in so much trouble.” She smiled at the memory but it was a wistful smile. “They had a small garden, nothing like this. Herbs and vegetables, and a few very sad rosebushes that never seemed to bloom for some reason. But they had a disproportionately large number of strawberry beds that we used to raid every season, even after we were grown and should have known better.” She turned her head to look at him. “And do you know, nothing has ever tasted quite as good as those stolen strawberries.” 

He could just picture the two of them. “There’s a saying in Starkhaven that stolen fruit is always the sweetest.” He commented.

“In Ferelden it’s stolen kisses that are supposed to be the sweetest.” She said without thinking and then blushed realizing what she had said. 

His eyes went immediately to her lips. _Sweet indeed_. His thoughts were venturing in directions they shouldn’t. “Were you ever caught?” 

“Almost always. We weren’t very good thieves, apparently. But we would brazenly lie about it to everyone, in spite of the fact that we were covered head to toe in berry stains.” 

“So you were a mischievous child?” He asked already knowing the answer. He smiled seeing a smaller version Hawke with skinned knees and riotous curls, sneaking over walls to escape the wrath of some rural chantry sister.

“Oh yes,” she freely admitted. “Even long before I discovered the wonders of stolen berries. And Carver and I together were impossible. We would egg each other on, dare each other to climb higher on a tree, or go deeper into a cave, or swim out farther into a lake.”

“Your father didn’t reprimand you?”

She smiled. “No, Da didn’t mind. I think he liked us having the freedom that he didn’t have growing up in the Circle. We took full advantage of that, little beasts that we were. Mother would be furious with us of course. We got sent to bed without supper more times that I can say. But Bethany would usually smuggle us up something.” She smiled at the memory before her eyes took on that haunted look again. “I miss them all so much. Everything’s different now.” She whispered.

His heart ached for her. “It’s the way of things to change. That doesn’t make it any easier to accept.” 

“Yes.” She still looked so woebegone.

He wished he could give her more than useless platitudes. That he could offer her something tangible to ease her sorrow. And then an idea occurred to him. “I wonder…” He got to his feet. “Wait here a minute.”

She watched perplexed as he disappeared to a far corner of the garden and returned smiling broadly and holding something behind his back. “Put out your hands.” He said. She did as he said and he dropped a handful of strawberries in them. “It’s a bit early, but I think they’re ripe enough.” He said sitting on the bench beside her. 

She stared at the berries in her hand. “Strawberries from the chantry garden.” She whispered. She looked up at him and Isabela’s words from months ago suddenly flashed through her mind. _When you fall in love Hawke, you’ll know it. There won’t be any doubt._ And just like that her heart was taken.

For a moment he thought perhaps he had done the wrong thing. And then she looked up at him and the emotion in her eyes blazed through him like a flame.

When she managed to speak her voice was throaty. “Sebastian Vael. You overwhelm me.” 

Suddenly he wasn’t the priest or the prince, he was simply Sebastian Vael. 

And there it was again. That strange inexplicable connection he had felt from the first time he met her in the Chantry. His pulse seemed to pound in his throat as he reached down and picked up one of the strawberries, the sensible chantry brother in him screaming warning as he pulled off the green stem and held it to her mouth, unable to help but notice how closely the color matched. She flushed, staring at it and hesitated for just a moment, her tongue running quickly over her suddenly dry lips before she leaned forward and took it gently between her teeth, and bit into it. She closed her eyes as the flavor burst on her tongue. Sebastian thought it was possibly the most sensual thing he had ever seen. 

She opened her eyes and smiled at him, her heart racing. “It tastes almost as good as if it were stolen. Thank you.” 

Her words were so heartfelt that he was embarrassed. “It was a but a small thing.” He couldn’t look away from her. The blue and green of her eyes seemed darker, richer than before. 

“No. Not to me.” Her denial was almost fierce, and he realized in spite of her smallness, in spite of her jokes and humor she had a passion that would extend to everything she did. 

The breeze blew a stray curl into her face and unable to stop himself he raised a hand and tucked it behind her ear. His fingers trailed along the sensitive skin just below. He glanced at her mouth. _Stolen kisses are the sweetest_. He looked up and their eyes met, and he knew the emotion in her eyes was reflected in his. Almost against his will his hand moved from by her ear to the back of her neck. Her eyes were huge as he leaned closer. Her face tilted up to his, her lips parted slightly and her breath was coming faster. 

He didn’t know what might have happened if he hadn’t caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked over to see Elthina walking towards them. His hand dropped to his side and he stood, stepping away from Hawke. She followed his glance and quickly placed the strawberries on the bench between them before getting to her feet. One rolled off and fell to the ground. They both turned to face the Grand Cleric.

Elthina smiled gently at Anabel. “Your mother has decided to stay with us for a few days, to rest and to reflect. I thought I would come and see how you were, Anabel.”

Hawke smiled trying to stop her pounding heart. Had she imagined what just happened? “Please, call me Hawke. Only my mother calls me Anabel. I always feel I’m going to be scolded when I hear the name. It’s very kind of you. I’m feeling much better. Brother Sebastian has been wonderful. He’s shown me that things can be looked at in quite a different way from how I’d been seeing them. You should give him a raise. Or at least an extra helping of dessert.” 

The grand cleric looked taken aback for a moment at the stream of words, but then she laughed, her grey eyes crinkling in pleasure. Sebastian couldn’t remember when he had last heard her laugh out loud. So many people were awed by the title, they forgot she was a person as well. “Well lucky for us we got him at a bargain price. I’m glad he was able to help. But I’d like to talk with you myself, if I may, Hawke.”

Hawke looked uncomfortable, rather like a child confronted by a teacher about to scold her but said “Of course, your grace.” 

“Would you give us some privacy, Brother Sebastian?” Elthina asked him.

“Of course your Grace.” Said Sebastian with relief. He needed to get away, to figure out what in the Maker’s name had almost happened just now.

“Don’t leave the garden though. I’d like to speak with you when we’re done.”

Had she seen them, he wondered uneasily. “Of course your Grace.” He wandered over to the herb garden and kneeling down, began pulling some weeds.

Elthina lowered herself to the fountain bench. “Please Hawke, sit.” Hawke sat uneasily. Elthina reached over and took Hawke’s hand in hers. “I wanted to say that, in spite of the circumstances, I’m very happy to meet you. I knew your grandparents well.”

“You knew my grandparents?” Apparently Leandra hadn’t exaggerated the importance of the Amells.

“Oh yes. I dedicated your mother into the Chantry. Your grandmother was a very…proper lady. But she was beside herself with joy that day.” She looked at Anabel. “And your mother put her fist in my eye.” 

Anabel smiled at the image. “What was she like when she was a girl?” 

“Your mother was the beauty of the season. Charming, intelligent, sought after by all. An advantageous marriage had been arranged. And then without any warning she eloped with your father.” She looked at the girl next to her. “From what I gather her life with your father was very different from her life here. Was she happy with him?”

Anabel thought back to her childhood, before Bethany’s magic showed, to the laughter and joy and love in the house and nodded. “Yes. She was. We used to tease her because the simplest tasks, cooking, keeping the fire going, plucking a chicken seemed almost beyond her. We took care of her and Bethany – Bethany was my sister, Carver’s twin. She was a little frail, so most of mother’s time was spent looking after her. Bethany was lovely. Tall and beautiful, like Mother, and so good. Never got into scrapes or fell out of trees or into ponds, never got into fistfights. Mother took care of Beth and Da and Carver and I did everything else. Well almost. Mother taught us our letters, and manners and dancing. How to be proper Amells. I think she always dreamed of coming back here, even before Da died.” 

Elthina nodded. “She misses him very much.”

“Yes.” Said Anabel wistfully. “We all do. He was such a wonderful man. It was hard for her after he died. She’d given up everything to be with him and suddenly he was gone.” She looked at Elthina. “I look like him. I remind her of him, I know I do and I can’t help but wonder if some of the resentment she has towards me is directed at him.” She sighed. “Or maybe it’s just directed at me. I can be quite annoying or so my brother tells me….told me…” her voice trailed off and the tears welled up again. She wiped them away impatiently and gave Elthina a watery smile. “I’m sorry, I’ve been embarrassingly weepy today.”

“Nonsense.” Said Elthina. “You’ve suffered a great loss. Until you find out what’s happened to your brother it’s only healthy to let it out now and again.” 

Anabel smiled and shook her head. “First Brother Sebastian and now you. You’re making me revise everything I thought about the Chantry.”

Elthina’s eyes twinkled. “That sounds like it might be a good thing.”

“Oh, it’s always good for me to be proved wrong. I can be awfully stubborn about things.” 

Elthina smiled. She liked this girl. “Tell me, has your relationship with your mother always been this way?”

She sighed. “No. I mean, it’s never been easy. Poor Mother. I’m so far from what she wanted in a daughter. Too plain, too small, too interested in books and daggers. It was fine when I was little, she had Bethany and could pin all her hopes and dreams on her. And then we found out Bethany had magic.” Her voice trailed off, her eyes fixed on a point in the distance. “And everything changed. Father had to take over Bethany’s education. Carver took it hard because suddenly Da was focused on Bethany, just when he was old enough to really need a man around. Mother took to her bed for weeks. And now Father’s gone and Beth is gone, and Carver….” her voice trailed off. When she had regained control, she continued. “And Mother is left with just me. She’s had a rough time of it."

Elthina put a comforting hand on Hawke’s arm. “The important thing I think is that you both move on from here. You’re both still alive, you still have each other. You can build on that. I’ve said as much to your mother, and she agreed. Why don’t you take this time apart to think on it. And Maker willing you’ll soon find out your brother’s fate.” 

Hawke smiled at her. “Brother Sebastian said much the same. You’ve both been so kind. And after we caused such a scene in the Chantry.

Elthina’s eyes went to where Sebastian was working in the far corner of the garden. “He’s a good boy. A good man, I should say. And a good priest. He’s helped so many.”

Hawke looked over at him. “He helped me. A great deal.”

“It’s my greatest wish that he rejoin the Chantry.” Said Elthina, not taking her eyes from him. “He renounced his vows with thoughts of vengeance and anger in his heart, but he’s healed since then, regained some of the peace that the Chantry helped him find when he was younger. I think it’s just a matter of time before he realizes that his true calling is still here with the Chantry rather than in trying to raise an army and reclaim Starkhaven. But he’s still a bit muddled right now. His actions occasionally reflect that.” Elthina’s pale grey eyes were carefully neutral as she turned to look at Hawke.

Anabel looked back at Sebastian. She’d understood Elthina’s message. “It was tragic what happened to his family. He’s such a good man. He deserves the life he wanted before it all happened." She meant it wholeheartedly. He had a true gift for helping others. She wasn’t quite sure what had happened just before Elthina appeared, but it was obvious there wasn’t a future for them. Even if he weren’t a priest, even if he did take back Starkhaven he’d need a different sort of woman at his side. A noble with connections, money, soldiers. Not a Fereldan apostate’s daughter. It didn’t change how she felt about him. It was just reality. To pretend otherwise would be foolish. 

Elthina let herself relax. She’d feared the girl was another of those flighty young women who fancied themselves in love with Sebastian.

Hawke turned to her with a smile. "Thank you so much. I shouldn’t keep you any longer.” 

“I’ve enjoyed our talk.” Said Elthina. They both stood, and Sebastian quickly crossed the garden to join them. “Hawke is leaving. I’m sure you wished to say farewell.” 

Hawke smiled at him. “Thank you for everything. You’ve helped me more than I can say.” She looked at him trying to memorize his face. She’d already decided stay away from him from now own. There was no point in torturing herself. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t think of him though.

“You’re more than welcome. I’m glad I could be of aid.” He wondered at the intensity of her gaze.

He and Elthina saw Hawke to the garden entrance and watched as she walked away.

Elthina looked carefully at Sebastian. “What’s your opinion of her?”

“I’m awed by her courage and resilience. She seems extraordinary. How can her mother not see it?”

“We’re often blind to what is right in front of us. The Amells have a long history of favoring one child over another. Sadly it seems Leandra has continued that. I’m glad you were able to offer her some comfort. I haven’t ever seen her at services. Have you?”

He shook his head. “She came by the Chantry to light a candle once, and I assisted her with that, but no, I’ve never seen her at services. But that’s not surprising given what her father and sister were.” 

“Well perhaps this will be what brings her to the Maker’s side.” She said looking after her before she turned back to Sebastian. “There seemed to be something between you.”

“She’s a remarkable woman.” He said deliberately misunderstanding what Elthina was asking. 

She gave him a sharp look. “Indeed. And if I hadn’t interrupted would you have kissed her?”

“Oh.” So she had seen that. His brain scrambled to come up with an explanation.

His guilty flush answered her question. She sighed. “You are a young man who has recently renounced his vows. There is nothing preventing you from kissing a pretty girl if a life in the Chantry is truly not what you want. But I worry for you Sebastian. I worry that you will return to that life you led before, that life that made you so unhappy. There have been several women you’ve talked of in your recent confessions. The one who killed the Flint Company mercenaries. The one who brought the reliquary back. And now Anabel Hawke. It’s she who concerns me most. That you would take advantage of her when she is in such a vulnerable state. It worries me, Sebastian. A great deal.”

Sebastian was about to tell her she didn’t need to worry, that all three of those women were Hawke, but he stopped himself, suddenly uncertain if that wouldn’t worry Elthina even more. Suppose she decided that was reason enough to keep him from renewing his vows? 

Elthina was still watching Hawke’s retreating figure. “You know my wishes on the subject of your future Sebastian. I believe the Maker brought you into the Chantry for a reason. You have such a gift. I would hate to see you forsake it for mere carnal pleasures.” 

Sebastian watched Hawke walk away. It wasn’t quite the lighthearted bounce she had before, but she was looking straight ahead, and her stride was resolute. Confident. He’d helped give that back to her and he took pleasure in it as he always did when he’d reached out and helped someone in need. 

He had a choice to make. Not a final choice perhaps, but a choice nonetheless. 

Step back from Hawke and stay with the Chantry, stay with this life that had given him such joy before he’d renounced his vows.

Leave the Chantry for the uncertainty of retaking Starkhaven and the chance that he might fall all too easily into that life of indolent depravity he’d lived before.

And where did his feelings for Hawke fit into it? 

Elthina was right. Hawke was so vulnerable right now. If he left the Chantry, if he pursued her, how did he know that he wouldn’t end up hurting her, using her, the way he’d hurt and used so many others before, and then just move on to the next willing body? He didn’t want to do that to her. He watched as Hawke disappeared from sight, and he turned his head and looked down at the Grand Cleric. 

Her eyes were kind as she looked up at him. “I travel to Orlais, to the Grand Cathedral in a fortnight as you know, and then will be visiting some of the other cities in the Free Marches on the return. We’ll be gone several weeks. Brother Cyrus has expressed a desire to stay here in Kirkwall. His gout is troubling him, I’m afraid. Would you be willing to accompany me in his stead?” 

He nodded slowly. He would remove himself from the temptation. Busy himself with doing Brother Cyrus’ work as Elthina’s personal assistant. He didn’t need to make a final decision as to whether he would stay in the Chantry. But for now. He took a deep breath. “Yes. I think that would be best.”


	26. Learning to Move On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke takes Sebastian's advice and tries to adjust to life without Carver.

Anabel left the Chantry with no real destination in mind. She wasn’t feeling better exactly, but for the first time in weeks she felt like she could cope, that no matter what she heard about Carver she could at least keep going. She hadn’t been nearly as certain of that this morning. She wandered through Hightown thinking perhaps she’d browse the wares in the market. She should stop by Gamlen’s, let him know that Leandra was staying at the Chantry, and pick up Boy, who’d been almost as despondent as she was about Carver’s absence. And she wanted to visit the Hanged Man. After weeks of wanting no company at all she suddenly wanted her friends. Laughter and conversation and affection.

She passed the steps to the Keep, glancing over at the now deserted Amell mansion and her steps slowed. She stared up at it. The façade was covered in overgrown ivy, the front step was cracked, the stonework in need of repair. There was a notice plastered on the front door stating it was now property of the Viscount, and there was an impressive looking padlock on it. She moved back far enough to be able to see the whole building and sat on the ground, ignoring the looks of the people passing by, just staring at it for so long that one of the guards came over, and in no uncertain terms told her to move on before she was taken in for loitering. 

“What do you think of this house?” She asked him abruptly.

“What?”

She pushed herself to her feet. “This house. Do you like it?”

He looked at her as if she were mad and then glanced over at the building. “I dunno. It’s seen better days, hasn’t it?”

“Hmmm.” She said in agreement. “You think it could be fixed up?”

“It’d take a lot of coin. More than you or I’ve got.” He seemed perplexed by the brilliant smile she gave him when he said that.

“Would it be worth it, you think?” 

He looked back at the house. “It’s in a good location right by the Keep and the Market. You’d be surrounded by toffs. Some people like that. It’s got a garden. Must have been a nice one, once.”

She looked at him in surprise. “It has a garden?” 

“Yeah. A big one in the back. Some slavers used to own it. Won it in a card game I heard. Someone went in and wiped them out. Slaughtered them. I was with the Guard Captain when we went in to clean up the mess. There’s a big garden in the back. Lot of trees and shrubs that are still alive. Could be real nice if someone took the time.”

“You know about gardens?” asked Anabel. She didn’t remember a garden, but they hadn’t explored the house, just killed the slavers, grabbed the will and those old letters and that was it. She wished they’d explored it more now.

The guard just shrugged. “My Dad’s a gardener up at the Keep. I used to help him out.”

A garden. She’d like a garden of her own. “Thanks for the help. What’s your name?”

“Liam.”

“You usually stationed here at the stairs?” she asked.

“More often than not.”

“You’ll be seeing a lot of me then.” She said with another smile. 

“And why’s that then?” he said, wondering if she was flirting with him. 

“My name’s Hawke. I’m going to buy this house.” She said.

He laughed at the idea and then stopped. “Wait. The Hawke who killed the head of the Red Iron? The one who went on the Tethras Expedition and brought back a fortune?” 

She grinned. “That’s the one.” 

He looked dumbfounded. “You can’t be that Hawke. I mean…look at you.”

She just laughed, and turning, walked towards the stairs down to the market. “See you around, Liam.” She called over her shoulder.

 

Varric looked up at the sound of a dog barking and a disbelieving smile spread over his face as Boy came bounding in. It couldn’t be. But sure enough, in walked Hawke just a moment later. Holy shit. She just strode in like it hadn’t been almost three weeks since she’d been here. 

“How does one purchase a mansion in High Town? If say, I wanted to buy the Amell mansion.” She asked with no preamble whatsoever as she climbed to sit cross legged on the table in front of him.

“It’s good to see you too, Hawke.” he said. She just grinned at him. She looked better, he thought. A bit of that spark was back. He smiled as he leaned back in his chair. “Hypothetically, you mean? I thought your mother was working on getting the will processed.”

“If one wanted to rush that, and one had a lot of coin suddenly, say from an expedition to the Deep Roads. And say one had a friend with mysterious associations with the Dwarven Merchant’s Guild who knew everyone there was to know and which palms might need to be greased to speed things up. Hypothetically.”

“When you say rush it?”

“Have the key in hand by month’s end.”

He just looked at her. “How much of this fortune might one hypothetically be willing to spend?”

“As much as it takes.”

Varric raised his eyebrows at that. Ancestors save Hawke from herself. He shook his head. “Don’t ever go into business, Hawke.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Well I might, but it wouldn’t be a dream I’d enjoy. So, the Amell mansion?”

He considered the options. “I’d go right to the Seneschal.”

“Bran? That’s no good. He hates me.”

“That’s why you have an agent. An incredibly handsome but business savvy dwarf with numerous local connections working for a mysterious lady of great wealth who wishes to acquire a mansion immediately and doesn’t care about the condition it’s in.”

“Won’t he figure out it’s me?”

“Not until the paperwork’s drawn up. But then he’ll have gotten a taste of the coin. He won’t want to lose it after that.”

“Is he that crooked? I knew he was pompous, but I thought he was at least honest.”

“He’s honest enough for a politician. If he didn’t think it was in Kirkwall’s best interests he’d wouldn’t take the bribe, no matter how much you offered him.” 

“Huh. I have a growing respect for the man. Shame he’s such a self-important git.” She smiled and climbed off the table. “Just one thing. I want it in Leandra’s name.”

That was a surprise. “You sure?” He had to ask.

“Yes. You up for Wicked Grace tonight?” she called as she headed for the door, Boy bouncing along beside her.

“When am I not?” he answered. “Where are you off to?” 

“I’ve got to stop by the market and pick something up. I’ll let the others know about tonight.” She was still speaking as she started down the stairs. Varric smiled and pulled out a sheet of paper and began composing the first of what he was sure would be many letters to Seneschal Bran.

 

As soon as Boy realized where they were heading, he went bounding ahead up the stairs leading to the clinic, barking excitedly.

“Boy!” she called running after him as he dashed into the clinic. She ran to the door hoping the mabari hadn’t caused any patients to panic, but the clinic was empty except for Anders and an older woman. Boy was butting his head against Anders who looked down at him in surprise. His eyes went immediately to the door and his face lit up when he saw Hawke standing there. She smiled hesitantly at him remembering all too well how horrid she’d been the last time she’d been here.

He said something to the woman at his side and she glanced over at Hawke, and then looked back at Anders and said something with a teasing smile. Anders looked back at Hawke and almost reluctantly shook his head. The women gave a low laugh and said something else before walking away from him, smiling approvingly at Hawke as she passed her. 

“Did I miss something?” asked Hawke as she walked to him. 

“Annalise thinks I need a woman in my life to take care of me. She thinks you might do.”

“Oh.” She felt herself blushing. “Obviously, she’s never tasted my cooking.” She handed him the jar she’d picked up at the market. “I’ve brought you jam. As a peace offering. I thought you might have run out.”

He took the jar with a small smile. “Had we been fighting?”

“Well I'm fairly certain I was. You were the embodiment of patience and understanding. I just wanted to say I was sorry. For being so awful.”

“You didn’t do anything Hawke. I’m just sorry I couldn’t answer your questions.” He looked carefully at her. Too thin. They’d all lost some weight trying to find their way out of the Deep Roads, but she’d lost more weight since then. Weight she couldn’t afford to lose. And she hadn’t been sleeping. But still… “You look better. Did you hear from Carver?”

“No. Not yet. But I do feel better.” 

He frowned suddenly and taking her face in his hand turned it towards the light. “What happened to your cheek?” 

“Ah.” She had actually forgotten about that. “Leandra. We had a bit of a hullabaloo in the Chantry this afternoon.”

“She hit you?” his face darkened. 

Hawke shrugged. “She was distraught, apparently. She’s staying at the Chantry for a few days to rest and contemplate or some such thing.” 

He put his hand over the cut, easily healing it. “The bruise will fade in a day or so. You should have come right away.” 

“I was speaking with someone.” She blushed when she said it.

“Someone?” he asked trying to ignore the jealousy that flared up suddenly.

“A priest actually. After the hullabaloo. Apparently they thought it wasn’t just Leandra who needed tending.”

Well that explained the blush. She knew his feelings about the Chantry. “So if you didn’t hear from Carver, what brought about this change?”

“I told you, I talked to a priest at the Chantry. He was surprisingly sympathetic and helpful.” Anders looked as dubious as she’d thought he would and she couldn’t help laughing. “No, really. There are some good ones there, you know.”

“I suppose there would have to be.” He admitted grudgingly. 

“We’re having a game of Wicked Grace tonight at the Hanged Man. You’ll be there?”

“Yes.” He said. Annalise had been right about one thing. He needed to get out. Be with people.

Hawke gave him a smile and squeezed his arm. “Enjoy the jam. Come on, Boy, let’s go see Merrill.” She turned to leave.

“Hawke.” She stopped at the door and looked back at him. “Those things we noticed in the Deep Roads.” He could see her stiffen. 

“Is it still there, you mean?” she asked carefully

“Yes.” 

She sighed and rested her head against the door jamb not looking at him. “You’ve got a lyrium potion somewhere on you. There’s more, I think in the chest by the wall there.” She turned her head to look at him. “There’s some kind of enchanted object in the storage room. Your old staff?” She guessed.

 _Damn._ He'd hoped... “It hasn’t faded at all?” 

“No. It almost seems well, not stronger exactly but cleaner, more precise. Or maybe I’m just getting used to it.” 

He just stared at her for a moment. “I’m not sure even I can sense magic that precisely. That’s impressive Hawke. Are you showing any other signs?” 

“You mean can I suddenly throw fireballs or heal people?” She gave him a small smile. “No. I just seem to be able to sense magic. But it’s more than what it was in the Deep Roads. Or maybe it’s just that the opportunity wasn’t there in the Deep Roads.” She hesitated for a moment catching her bottom lip between her teeth, and then continued. “That woman who was here, Annalise? She’s a mage, isn’t she?” She didn’t meet his eyes, looking instead out the door. 

“You can tell if someone is a mage?” He asked, his skin prickling. “Annalise wasn’t using magic. Even the Templars can only sense a mage if they’re casting.” His eyes widened as he realized the implications.

She turned her head and looked up at him. “Wouldn’t the Knight Commander just love to get her hands on me?” Her tone was light but he could see she was worried.

“Yes. Yes, she would.” He said truthfully.

They just stared at each other for a moment. Boy came up next to Hawke and nudged her hand. She scratched him behind the ears not looking away from Anders.

“It should be fairly easy to hide it from them.” She said finally. 

He nodded. “Yes. It could have been much worse.”

“I hate that.” She said passionately. “I hate that being a more talented mage is something that’s worse. It shouldn’t be like that.” 

“No, sweetheart. It shouldn’t be.” 

“Do you think it will ever change?” 

“I hope so. I’m trying to change it.” 

She sighed. “No one seems in the least bit inclined to make any effort to change it just because it’s the right thing to do. It seems like to really change it would take something drastic.” She turned to look at him. “What about you? The effects still there?”

“Yes.” It was actually a little frightening how much stronger his magic was these days. And his mana seemed to replenish more quickly as well. There was a reason he had a chest full of lyrium potions. He hadn't needed to consume them as frequently. 

She nodded, unsurprised. “We’re going to need to be careful who we let know about that place. I know Varric’s intending to send some men down there to get the rest of the things. I think we should tell him. Are you all right with that?”

“If there’s anyone I would trust with stuff like this it would be Varric. He could make sure only those immune to magic go down there.”

“Dwarves you mean? Yes, that would be best.” She paused for a moment. “Should the wardens be told?”

He almost shuddered at the thought. If the only warden he’d known had been Nell Cousland he would have said yes. But some of those foreign wardens had been ruthless bastards who wouldn’t hesitate to use the red lyrium for their own purposes, conveniently hiding behind the old wardens do whatever is necessary mantra. “No.”

She nodded, seeming to accept this. “I’ll talk to Varric tonight. See you later.” She ran down the stairs, Boy running past her, barking enthusiastically.

 

Varric’s plans for purchasing the Amell mansion went as smoothly as he hoped, up to a point. Bran had eagerly accepted the offer, as well as the extra coin to rush through the purchase and within a fortnight Anabel found herself the proud owner of a rundown mansion in Hightown. The price minus the bribe had not been unreasonable. The price with the bribe added was less reasonable but still only a fraction of what they’d brought back from the Deep Roads. The only snag was Bran’s refusal to put the mansion in Leandra’s name, saying paperwork to reinstate the will had been filed and for Leandra’s name to suddenly appear on the deed now, rather than after the lawsuit had made its way through the courts, would be contrary to the spirit of the law. Anabel suspected he was just annoyed that they’d successfully kept her name out of the whole deal for so long. 

Leandra had returned to Gamlen’s from the Chantry and she and Hawke had managed to maintain the peace, though Hawke suspected they wouldn’t be able to really move forward until they got word of Carver’s fate. She checked up on the miners, made sure that Hubert wasn’t attempting to renege on their agreement to improve their wages and living conditions, bought extravagant gifts for all her friends, helped Anders out in the clinic. She seemed almost back to her old self. Almost.

It was Aveline who finally pointed it out to her at the Hanged Man one night. 

“I could use your help on a job, Hawke. Some bandits have set up a camp where we took out the Flint Company a few months ago. They need to be cleared out.” Anabel opened her mouth to refuse, but Aveline would have no part of it. “It’s time Hawke. You need to learn to fight without him. You’re too good a fighter to give it up. Kirkwall needs those skills.” 

Anabel reluctantly agreed.

The job was a disaster. Oh, they succeeded in clearing out the bandits, but Hawke had managed to get stabbed, not once, but twice, the second wound bleeding so much that Hawke passed out and Anders was actually panicking before he’d managed to get it under control.

Aveline watched from a distance as Anders finished healing Hawke. Anabel was pale and silent leaning weakly against him as he worked. Aveline scowled watching them trying to figure out what had gone wrong. Anabel had gone charging into one of the bandits, fearless, totally unafraid and then when he struck at her she’d crumpled under his knives, a surprised expression on her face as if something she’d expected to happen just hadn’t.

“Maker’s breath.” She said suddenly realizing what the problem was. “She’s lost a limb.”

Fenris, who had been seated on a rock beside her, looked up, puzzled. “Pardon?”

“Hawke. The way she used to fight with Carver.” She said, offering no further explanation.

“They were an admirable team.” He said finally.

She shook her head as if he were missing the point. “When I was first in the army in Fereldan I had a sergeant. He lost a hand in some fighting in the bannorn. Everyone said that he wouldn’t fight again. That he couldn’t retrain himself. But he did. He took a while. He kept complaining that it felt like the hand was still there. That it even hurt sometimes. Phantom pain they call it. But he did it. Learned to fight with a sword and shield again, had one specially made that strapped onto his arm. It took him learning a different way of fighting but he did it.” She looked at Fenris expectantly.

Fenris merely stared waiting for Aveline to make her point.

“That’s what it’s like for Hawke. She trained her whole life with Carver. They always fought together. She’s still fighting as if Carver is there. She’s used to fighting as a pair, not by herself. She’s got to realize he’s not there anymore and learn to fight without him. Or she’s going to get herself killed.” With that the guard captain hoisted herself to her feet and walked over to see how Hawke was doing. 

Fenris remained seated considering what Aveline had said. 

 

Hawke woke early the next morning to head over to the Keep to train with Aveline and her men. Her heart wasn’t in it. It just didn’t feel right to not have Carver there. And from the wounds she’d received taking out the bandits, she knew her fighting was suffering as well. She was out of shape, out of practice, out of something, and she needed to do something about it. Her armor was a dead loss after yesterday, so she simply pulled on some leather trousers, and a cotton shirt, shoving her feet into her boots. For sparring at the Keep it would be fine. She needed to get some new armor, but she kept hoping Isabela would turn up and come with her. There still had been no sign of the pirate, though Anabel had paid the fisherman whose boat she’d stolen twice what it was worth in return for the promise that he wouldn’t press charges. She twisted her hair up on her head and skewered it securely into place. Leandra was still sleeping but Gamlen was just coming in the door as she walked into the main room. He shoved a raspberry tart into her hand. It was still warm, fresh from the baker’s.

“Here girl. You’re not eating enough. The last thing I need is you ill and unable to contribute to expenses.” He grumbled at her.

She couldn’t help a small smile. His excuse was ridiculous of course since the success of the Deep Roads trip. Gamlen had been doing little things like this since she’d returned. Always gruffly, always with a statement that contradicted the kindness of his act. A new hair ribbon left by her bed. When she tried to thank him “I’m tired of finding long red hairs everywhere.” Scented soap “Well you used up the last of it, someone had to buy some more.” And now a warm raspberry tart. How he knew it was her favorite she had no idea. 

She went up on the tip of her toes and pulling his head down pressed a kiss on his cheek. “I’m glad you’re my uncle.” She whispered. 

“Bullshit.” He muttered. “No one’s ever glad to be related to me.” 

“Well I am.” She said firmly. She walked towards the door to be stopped by his calling her name. She looked back at him with a questioning glance.

“I’m glad you’re my niece.” He hesitated. “Carver’s lucky to have a sister like you.” He noticed her eyes tearing up and immediately added gruffly. “Go already and give me some peace and quiet in my own home, and take that mangy hound with you.” The girl would go off with no protection at all if you let her.

Anabel walked out into the sunshine, shaking her head and biting down into her tart as she walked down the stairs to find Fenris pacing to and fro at the bottom. “Fenris. Is something wrong?” 

He looked uncertain, hesitating slightly before speaking. “Hawke. I have a request to make of you.” 

“Of course.” She said immediately, and handed the remnants of her breakfast to Boy wiping the crumbs from her hands. “Where do we need to go?” She asked looking up at him expectantly.

He rolled his eyes. “Hawke you don’t even know what I am asking. You must stop accommodating everyone.”

Her eyes twinkled “Seems an odd request.” 

He gave her an exasperated look. “I merely point out to you that if you stopped saying yes to everyone who asks you a favor you would not get into nearly as much trouble as you do.”

“True, but think how dull life would be. I’m heading up to the Keep to do some training. Want to come?” 

“That is what I wished to discuss with you.” He paused as if uncertain quite how to continue. “I’ve greatly admired the way you and your brother fought together. I was wondering if you would teach me to fight like that. To fight with you.” 

She frowned slightly. “Surely you have no need of a fighting partner.” She stopped and put her hands on her hip. “This is because I got stabbed yesterday, isn’t it?” she asked accusingly.

“Twice.” Was his only comment.

She sighed. She should have known her friends weren’t going to let that slide by. “Fenris, you don’t have to babysit me. I know my fighting’s been off. It’s just different now. I keep expecting him to be there, at my back.” Her eyes were sad, but she deliberately pushed the sorrow back, and turned to Fenris. “I just need to adjust, is all.” Maker knew how she was supposed to do that, of course.

Fenris was still frowning. “It is not just that, though I admit keeping you safe was my first concern. But upon reflection I came to the conclusion that if you would teach me how to fight as you did with your brother, together we would make a formidable adversary. As you and your brother were.” 

Hawke was looking at him suspiciously as if trying to gauge if he was moved by pity, or if he truly wanted this. 

He thought of how she had drifted like a ghost through his broken down mansion when she’d first returned. How she’d woken crying out for Carver, and how he’d heard her weeping late at night. And even now when she seemed so much better, the loss of her brother was still affecting her, still harming her. His next words came out in a rush. “You feel his loss when you fight. Let me take his place at your side.” 

She suddenly realized what he was offering, what he couldn’t quite manage to say: You have lost a brother. Let me fill that void. Fenris, prickly, independent Fenris, offering up that very independence just to keep her safe. For the second time that morning she felt her eyes well up with tears, and Fenris looked just as alarmed as Gamlen had. She laughed and wiped quickly at her eyes. “Yes.” She said, and felt the gaping hole left by Carver’s absence fill just a little.

A small satisfied smile crossed Fenris’ face. “Good. Let us head to the Keep then.”

There was a spring to Anabel’s step that had been missing since the Deep Roads as she walked beside him. “I’ll drive you mad, you know. I sing when I fight. I never shut up while I’m practicing.”

“I am aware of this.” He said looking straight ahead.

“Of course you never talk at all, so it should all balance out.” 

He glanced sideways at her as she bounced along beside him and allowed himself another small smile at her obvious pleasure. “I agree.”

 

She was still smiling several hours later as she and Fenris walked down the stairs of the Keep. Sore, sweaty, and bruised, but smiling. 

“That was amazing!” She said once again. It had been different than fighting with Carver. She and Carver had fought as a team, but a team with a definite leader. With Fenris it felt more like an equal partnership, or at least it would be once they both learned to relinquish a bit of control. But the thrill when they’d successfully executed a planned move was like nothing she’d ever experienced. 

Fenris’ response was careful. “I believe if we continue to practice diligently the results will be…” he looked at her grinning up at him and abandoned his usual reserve giving her a rare smile. “…amazing.” 

She laughed as they reached the bottom of the stairs. There was the tail end of a procession passing by. Clergy by the looks of them. 

“Liam! “ She called to the guard at the bottom of the stairs. “What’s going on?” 

“Grand Cleric’s off to Orlais and then a tour of the Free Marches. She’ll be gone for months.” 

Anabel glanced at the procession with a small frown, wondering if Sebastian were among the sisters and brothers accompanying the Grand Cleric. She didn’t see him. Unless he’d been up front with the Grand Cleric. 

“Anabel!” she turned her head to see her mother and Gamlen running towards them, dodging through the crowd. Her mother never ran. Her heart started pounding in her chest. She could only think of one thing it could be. _Oh, Maker, please..._

There was a smile on her mother’s face that made her look years younger. “He’s alive, Anabel. He’s alive and a Grey Warden, He did it. He made it.” 

There was a sudden roaring in her ears and everything seemed to go dark. She felt her legs give out beneath her, and heard Fenris curse as he caught her, keeping her from falling to the ground. He swept her up and carried her over to the stairs, making her sit and forcing her head between her knees. She felt someone rubbing her hands and lifted her head to see Leandra crouched next to her, worry plain on her face. She felt a momentary shock, unable to remember the last time that had happened. She smiled tentatively at her mother. “He’s alive? Truly?” she asked. 

Leandra smiled and nodded “Truly.” 

And for the first time since she’d been a very small girl, Hawke burst into tears and cried on her mother’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we come to the end of Act One.


End file.
